This was one of the assignments for creative writing after we had just finished reading One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest in english class. I think it is somewhat pertinent to a main theme throughout the story.

A garden,
a fence,
a piece of fertile land.

These gardeners scream
an utterance of control.

Incecticides, pesticides,
rake to hoe.
This garden to tend,
to nurture,
to grow.

A lonesome weed,
hidden among the roses,
the pansies,
tomatoes and fruit,
keeping constant vigil,
afraid to be caught.

Brilliant colors displayed
to cover its sanctity,
hiding behind others
to shield its vulnerability.

A large weed,
with a stem of wood,
leaves of iron,
radiant
against the dark soil.
Dares to cover the path between.

The gardener sprays once,
to let it die slowly,
work continuing on the
Flowers,
slowly withering away.

Fertilizer
irrigation
segregation
none of it works
irritation.

The valiant weed,
once made of wood,
made of tungsten.
Unable to melt
lacking a crack
seeming invincible,
infesting the gardener.

Digging, scraping,
cover and patch.
The weed no longer
can attach.
Roots uphauled
out for good.

The life sucks the nutrients out of the soil to make itself stronger as a collecti\ve and to -

Disdain takes over,
the flowers to weeds.
Despite the gardener
and her million tricks
to match the fix
with a thousand cries
and the garden dies
and the weeds grow
as the flowers old
decrepit and rotten
to be forgotten
what they were once
how they were twice
and what will suffice.

The weary, battle-worn gardener returns to her section.
A rosebud there, none more than a few...
Weeds in place of the gardener's most wonderful creations.
How dares to be outdone by a single life.
To have wasted the time spent to make these flowers perfect.

Biology in its splendor.
Ecological succession?
Or uninhibited progression?