Fairground mirrors make the smallest parts huge...

The weak will
Over run those
Who think they
Are strong
With false power.
  
Those who are strong,
Will lose to those
Who have strength
But not the
Intelligence to use it.

Those with intelligence
Will not be smart if
They abuse the gift
Given and find it
Taken away.

You are not my children,
tender as you are.
You are not my lover,
though you cause my heart to yearn.
You are not my sun,
or my moon,
or my star.

I set you on this rock;
you will not make me burn.

You are simply sticks,
arranged upon the pyre.
You are clever tricks,
though you flaunt my clear desire.
You are not the match,
or the wick,
or the fire.

I set you on this rock;
To see what might transpire.

You will never be a pheasant's egg to be coddled.
You are only this: a calf led to the slaughter.

I've got some scores to settle
      With the man upstairs,
And they range from the red on his hands,
      To the grey in my hairs.
7 billion fools sharing 13 stool
      In this game of musical chairs,
And a set of ****** rules
     Worse than middle school dares.

A blue black cloud, all over me is written JOY
in the script of vapor, dense, moist and meaningful,
I am light, like a feather, the breeze is in love with me for that,
I love his gentle persuasion to waft, move about, explore..
and then--ravaged by wind my love changes direction.

I love freedom more than anything, but forgot limits, hover
now, I am no more attached to the green hills, they are jealous,
far above them am I, untouched by their vainglorious pride,
I am not hard-hearted, parched fields send shivers of lightning
break me in to thousand  smaller pieces, scatter around.

My love for this earth is kindled by the sights unfurling below
all the egrets, cormorants, storks and herons of great magnificence,
those kind hearted friends that fly with me often are in pain
like the farmers, there isn't enough water for anything.

A cloud is a thought, inspired by the love for mother earth
by the ocean I am gifted to the breeze, to tour around,
on many lands fell my shade, found life in all varieties,
now is the time to be kind at heart, melt, fall in torrents.

Time is a moment, lengthened
Stretched, but ever fluid,
Not stationary but ever moving
I formation of forth and back.

It is the crest upon a traveling
quantum consciousness,
We are here, behind, staring
At what is enviable.

Time is conscious thought,
That which we think later is
A thought happened in the
Past, weaving to the now
And remembered as If never
Knowing that we always had it.

We are a sting of moments,
Time is but a ticking clock, we
Are living are existence.
Past, present, future are a
locking mechanism of
Consciousness that we have
Yet in a infinite moment,
To properly unlock.