Poison Vine

From the poison vine
They grow, never ceasing
With their thorns of acid
The danger keeps increasing

Feeding off of the wise woods
Clinging to them for more
Not as a barricade for the woods
But as a burden causing a sore

As they feed and produce
The poison vines grow thicker
Never helping another living
Their control reduce

If it were not for the wise
Would the thorns never grow?
Could the vine cut short?
Or will there always be the lies?

No matter how short or long
Even if they ne'r prolong
They are always there
Lies growing from the schmo