How much more than just a piece of light?
How much more to it than just life?
They might be killed - murdered, bludgeoned in the most murderous way.
They might disappear into a sickening agony of drunk feelings,
But, yet, they would be reborn into better beings, more perfect than the ones they were before.
The way a plant's born, all the strength they have to fight against other beings that wish them dead,
Against other beings that suck their souls,
All that strength recycles itself and brings more energy to this dead world of blood-draining souls.
That is what most call pain: the dryness within a being's blood,
A blood that only carries cold coal as if it were the darkness within an open mole
A mole dreaming of life, wondering how would it be to be alive in another person's gown
That's what plants do: they dream of becoming better beings
Without realising how amazing they already are
How much love, beauty and freedom a plant brings to the world!
Oh! How much love! How breath-taking are the movements of a baby seed,
Like a child starting to talk, they move their roots as if wanting to turn into adulthood
Without realising how much paper gets wasted when adults
Wasted paper, the only true issue that will always break us apart:
Wasted paper that hasn't been used appropriately
Wasted paper that has only murdered the true essence of life
It being solving the bewilderment of true love.
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