The wildness will win out

Do you know how barbed wire feels
After time and weather have taken their toll
And the surface of the barbs become
Grainy and rough?
I have seen barbed wire
Embedded in the bark of trees
Cut, stretched, pulled from the fencing,
But the tree, as it grows older
Pulling, wrapping itself around the wire
Until the rusty wire becomes one
With the rough bark of the tree,
One emulating the other, or complementing it
Until, the fencing which was
But is no longer, becomes a mere sign
Of the past desire of someone who tried to take control,
To channel the wildness around him
Into manageable portions, easily digested,
Controlled.

But sadly, the desires of the past
Lie silent in their amber,
Until the past act of control
Becomes its opposite
And the wire becomes as wild
As the tree in which it finds itself imbedded.

Wildness will always win out.