The sea of black roses upon the upper ground,
Petals of the flower heads wither descend without sound.
Acts of blurred lines decays mulch, pours polluted rain,
The storms can’t be contained, brings brass shells, soil with copper stain.
Working ground within outnumbers thorn bush on top,
Broad and strong, now tainted, strength leeched by bush for growth and crop.
The botanical time is ticking, stop the clock,
Ethical processes diminish, cotton wrapped slaves, new socks.
By Ellis Unchained
Work of Unchained Wisdom ©2021