Anarchy is Fertile

Beneath the ordered surface lies
A wild democracy of spores,
Where fungal networks democratize
The forest’s ancient floors.

No tyrant rules the meadow,
No king dictates the wind,
Yet life finds its rhythm in the chaos,
Where freedom’s roots rescind.

Through cracks in human certainty,
The dandelions declare
Their revolution silently,
Their seeds float through the air.

Each tendril seeks its own path home,
No central power commands
The way that roots and rhizomes roam
Through uncontested lands.

Nature knows no hierarchy,
No borders drawn in stone;
In mutual aid and symbiosis,
Wild wisdom has grown.

Like weeds that breach the concrete’s reign,
Our spirits too can rise,
Finding strength in patterns plain:
Resist, adapt, survive.

For in this grand cacophony
Of leaf and claw and wing,
We learn that true authority
Lies not in crown or ring.

But in the sacred anarchy
Of systems intertwined,
Where chaos breeds fertility,
And order’s redesigned.