A poem about the facade of society
As you walk this path, you say to yourself, "oh, what a beautiful wood." But looks, deceiving.
These trees, infested with creeper vines that strangle. Entangle. And over time, mangle in halves and
thirds. Hairy ropes like giant centipede legs that dig in. Become a part. Integrate. Reverse
And those fortunate flora that escape the vines, cannot escape the fungi that spread. Ripping bark
and rotting from outside, within.
Look around. A wood strewn graveyard. Lifeless. Dead.
This ecosystem, no better than the society that contains. Infected, diseased. But,
the latter: a much better disguise.