Heraclitus' Garden

If war's the father of all things,
Their mother, then is peace.
The plants that fill our beds -- each springs
From autumn's seed release.

Deep tensions make the seeds they spread
Into the fertile ground,
But peace provides the womb, the bed
For fruits to grow, abound.

Cooperation helps us reap
Our fruits and spread them wide --
Then autumn comes and we dig deep
To plan what you'll abide.

Trigger Warning

A warning: Here's a poem that just might
Offend. It may have murder, rape, or sex --
There's nothing here you may enjoy, delight
Your soul or challenge you, perhaps perplex.

What matters is this poem's politics!
It has abuse and deals with things like race,
Colonial oppression, actions hicks
Approve of in their dreams. Police will mace

A peaceful protestor, so look away
When that verse comes along. There's a belief
Here in this poem -- watch some person pray
To gods you don't believe in -- no relief

Will come your way if you read long enough --
Perhaps you'd better read some pointless fluff.