Analysis of I've Reaped what They’ve Sown

I felt the generations were coarse
and very unkind,
placing blame with bitter words
to uphold their shrine.

Some seeds are now sown
with no regards to fully blooming,
just a few selective weeds,
marked to become the elite.

How many times have I reaped?
While opening myself up, like
wound on skin
and grazing in the soils of them
that’s been approved while they
spare nothing.

Does the water sprinkle the ground?
Where my seed is preserved, or as
there too much foreseen of my
hopes to enlighten the undeserved?

I hear the laughter in their
high-mindedness
nevertheless, they seek me out as
voice of reasons.
Beautiful flowers I call them,
grown from watered poisons,
gristles of buried rodents.

Marked out, I am, presently without
full being, forgetting their blood is
of mine
and the coarse of them has deepened
within me, as I comply to them with
a cunning smile.

I have reaped what the ones at rest
have sown however, I do not withdraw
from their impure sweetness.
For I walk upon them like a gentle
leopard while my mind is ravenously
haunting them like prey, to inherit my
feast.