in the springtime
of his voodoo
possibilities seems to rise up
from the earth dancing
only to reveal themselves
to be the weeds returning
again
choking out the living forces
suffocating with their roots
entwined around hearts and throats
piercing fingers
and faith with their brambles
he lets them grow
exhausted and defeated
in the dark and cold
weary of the struggle
to clear the flowerbeds
daisies and tulips
now long gone
from inattention
and lost hope
