War of the Weeds

we grow through the cracks of your defences against the wild earth.
your manicured palaces aren’t safe from our creeping attacks.
you shake your fists and ready your machines, preparing your whirring neon scythes.
We lose our soldiers time and time again, but God didn’t birth us to fail.
Our troops are united, as you may have your weapons, but we have numbers, beliefs,
whilst you block out help and wall up your country, 
your borders of weakened wood do nothing against the strength of our roots.
you turn away with your blood soaked blades, triumphant over our limp loss.
We can hear you, proclaiming your victory to kingdoms you bar off beside us,
but your crowing will only last so long.
For your calls are like thunder, and Mother Nature laws require punishment for such useless noise.
Your lightning will come, and we will return with it.