We are roots
for the future
in plots sprouting vast,
where defiance ensures
tyrants won’t last

Spires from fibers
ask urgency of the sun,
wrestling the rhythm
of an enemy’s drum

When terrain is breached
feats are crushed by the spin,
so righteous messengers
separate deeds
from the sin

Trunks become towers
parting as they shade,
while asylum is swayed
by hostilities waged

As seasons age limbs,
change rushes through,
there’s a fall,
then a rebirth,
that always feels new

All this in the face
of machines
and their blades,
where safaris
are polluted by parades

Stumps that sustain
with roots still intact,
concentrate passion
to play out the next act