That seed that falls by accident,
the one you know was never meant.
To take hold and spring into life,
thick underbrush strangles might.
Should never of drawn it's strength,
from mother earth's diminishing drink.
Only to cause useless underbrush,
accidental intent hurried nature lust.
I suppose there are those who'll say,
that things meant to be will stay.
But what kind of life is never seeing light,
no sunkiss from above reigned down in love.
That brush sees no beauty, just relentless duty,
to hold tight the earth from rain washed looting.
It can't reach to the warmth of light giving life,
intended only to serve anothers purpose in strife.
~~Suseann~~
Author notes
Written September 18th, 2005
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I like the way the poem inspires multiple reactions and can be taken from the readers frame of reference of the moment. While it is easy to simply read the words with a --bad weed-- mentality, it is also easy to incorporate an everything has purpose meaning. I enjoy reading poetry that makes me think and consider not only what is written, but other things my mind conjures up surrounding the image I am given.
Thanks for giving me a chance to read it and good luck in the contest
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Some years ago, I discovered that some beings are born simply to suffer. How wrong is that¿ Need wonder about the sanity or kindness or a devine creator. But further introspection leaves me to ponder the limits of my own understanding and comprehension.
But as to weeds. I have some form of Sumac varient growing next to my house. It is about 60 or 70 feet tall and has a crown of about the same diameter. The stem diameter is about 5 feet. A tree expert told me it is likely one of the largest weeds in the world. It's stinking yellow pollen covers everything in spring, its offspring crop up in between my cement stairs and in my lawn everywhere. Even it's sticky leaves and leaf stems stick to my cars and clog their grills. I was sure I would cut it down. Then one day, it intercepted a major lightning strike meant for my house. Burned off half the trees bark. Slowly for the past few years it's trying to heal itself, yes it's still a neusense, and it is no less a huge objectionable weed. But in a strange twist of fate, I find myself rooting for the weed. Just maybe they do have a purpose.
Peace and rainbows,
~RJ~
PS: not bad for an uninspired mood! -
To every season turn turn turn Everyone has a purpose, everyone who was born was meant to be born, for whatever reason no matter how big or how small. This poem wreaks of sadness of a heart that feels useless.
ALL things have a purpose! 
~Lyrical
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Yes,you understood it correctly Linda.What beauty is their for a ill child or a health but abused or even abused and murdered one to come into that ugliness against and without their will.
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