Once they have control
The many will celebrate
They'll call it world peace

Wait for clarity...
Why mind mud?  I see myself
Equally as clear

Funny how we find --
Its like we bury treasure
And "X" in our mind

Was the seed in strife?
From pain did it then emerge?
It must lament death...

The cultivator
Was he then the seeds savior?!
Assurance of life

What conditioning!
For mere service to the God
Stripped when fruit was ripe

...Seed sows sorrow now
Bound to the cultivator
Eternal truth found

In strife it may be
But at least then it lived free
When some death seemed bound

And essential

All the thief may steal
Is Earth that you've distinguished
"Your's" instead of "Our's"

In a patterning in which an infinite number of variables could be considered
There is a why not for every why

When I do transmute
Its only the shaped I move
The shapeless I use