Plants in Their Soil

26 October 2024

When the peasants arrive, then you know
you're in trouble, for they do not come
when it's sunny. They'd rather destroy
than create, and their countenances indicate
malice deserved and served hot
like the flame that they carry
to torch all the structures that wrong them.

But Revolution itself has been absorbed
by the blob of authority proselytizing
itself forever and no other, that world order
beneath which we wallow, without which
we wage endless wars. But why struggle?
If some of our needs are met, why
complain? It appears that we need some third power
to mediate any antagonism, but this third
cannot be supreme without sucking the life
out of men, because (by definition)
it must not take sides. So it floats as its own
sideless side and makes cowards all those
who live under it, until they revolt.

But what grows in its place?
An American federalist dream, where each place
has a voice in the whole, but stays rooted?
I know of no better third, none more just
nor more durable, than one which respects
its constituents, who grow up like plants in their soil.