Sonnet #197

The bad trees are cut down, thrown into fire,

For the fruit is no good. The fig tree that fails

is cursed by the lord, withers and dies. All liars,

All thieves, all men who profit from what ails

the world, will be cut down. God will cut you down,

who grows thorns and spits thorns and bitter,

bitter words, words that harm, hate sewn

with a taste; God will cut you down. Better

be making the good fruit. However, the worst medicine

tastes sweet, I think, while the bitter purge heals

We live in a kitchen of sugar and adrenaline

The fruits are too chemical, so wash all your peels.

And what is good is not always what is sweet

What is good will hurt, bleed out, cure surfeit.