The Root

[REW]

It starts small, slowly spreading like
a bitter taste some like. Some don't.
Until a zealot makes it so
important people turn corrupt
just for a single second of
that aftertaste. It burns you numb
until you need it; once you need
it you demand it, which creates
supply essential every time
a person tastes. The zealot knows
his forte tricks like his right hand,
surrounding blind heretics with
men who need, so schismatic zeal
turns into zealots. More zealots  I am not sure what you mean here and think this could be cut or the transition to the infection could be done differently???

turn into a small annoyance

for some while others don't quite mind.

In fact, supply control is their
strength. They change worlds, all for a taste.
Addiction spreads, so they become
more. With more brings demand which brings
men power. They sit back and laugh
because they know how simple rules
create them while others remain
blind to the taste that somehow sparks
like French champagne on the mouths roof,
tickling like sensations of breath
or comfort building cellars on
gravesites and tombs. The product: all

you see. No grape just bottles full
for you. Go on and have a taste,

now tell me what you see.  I think you could cut this line or change it.  One thing I am thinking is not everyone who has a taste is going to succumb.  Wouldn't some just spit it out?  Or maybe this poem is directed at a specific person or type of person?

It is difficult for me to critique this but am having a go even though I am out of my comfort zone...

I feel as though these zealots fizzle and froth.  You sort of hinted at that with the French champagne with the tickle, but you never really reached popping fizzling froth and those corks that fly off like missiles--or maybe I am envisioning differently.  I like how this has a punch.  I think it could potentially be more hateful.