"If for me you’ll go through strife,"

Says the Spirit,

"I’ll give you Life."

"If through me you’ll seek and try,"

Says the Spirit,

"I’ll raise you high."

"If, to me, you’ll reach when low,"

Says the Spirit,

"I’ll help you grow."

"If your wounds you'll let me heal,"

Says the Spirit,

"I'll give you zeal."

"If, for me, you will enlist,"

Says the Spirit,

"I will assist."

"If for my Law your heart will crave,"

Says the Spirit,

"I'll make you brave."

"If, to me, you'll tilt your cup,"

Says the Spirit,

"I'll fill you up."

Those found in hell may reach in for Heaven
If they work through the dough that is laden with leaven;

For through nightmares and bloodshed that time seems to cherish,
It has never been Willed that any should perish.

Reaping rotten fruits from bitter roots;
Wearing flesh boots in penguin suits.

Like the Beast with his collar
Is Man with his dollar.

The collar, you see, restrains the beast
In his pursuit of a fancier feast.
The dollar, then, restrains the man
From following after his self-centered plan.

Blue collars, white collars,
Dollars dripped in red.
Which collar, for you,
Will they place around your head?

Will you be led to believe that the collar you earn
Is solely based on the knowledge you learn?
Or will you discover that the number of dollars
Determines the number and color of collars?

It is good and well to aid mankind
Upon this noble trek;
But do it for the reasons of progress and love;
And not a collar squeezing your neck.

by Jedidiah Fleming

The World is my Kryptonite.
It was delivered by a Canaanite.
It is so very black and white.
Black as black midnight.
White as white starlight.
Hotter than a fist-fight.
Colder than a frostbite.
It tries to lure you to the fight.
Being naturally impolite.
Always swelling with pride and might.
Soaring like a meteorite.
Exploding like dynamite.

O, but it is a parasite!
Warping every human right.
Dealing every man-made fright.
Feeding like a scabie mite.
Destroying like a forest blight.

Yet it craves a ray of Light.

From it, I remain from sight.
It is worse than any stage fright.
A never-ending snakebite.
Seeing without sight.
Hearing without height.
Choking out the sunlight.

The world is my Kryptonite.
But parts of it may turn to Light.
So its pain I will carry on.

Dangerously arid.

Sparks a flyin’.

Fires a spreadin’.

Intensifyin’.

Private prisons, a brand new cup;
Now some reasons to fill 'em up.

When the prison is a profitable place,
Slaves'll be marched to fill the space.

I asked the Master for the secret Ingredient;
He smiled at me and said, "Be obedient."

I wonder if they’ll still chant his name,
When the Native’s blood is spilt again?

I wonder if they’ll still shout and cheer,
As the Anger and Wrath draws further near?

Will they dance and jeer upon their feet,
Over the Scarlet stains covering the street?

Will they remain blind to his defiant knavery,
As their children are marched into his slavery?

But the blind, I suppose, will keep following since,
He’s adorned as a glittering and potent Prince.

No matter what we do or say,
I’ll be here for you any day.

No matter how our paths may part,
You’ll always be within my Heart.

And though my words are not top-dressed,
They’ll wish for you the very best.

No matter Red or Gold or the midst of Blue,
My Love will always be with you.

And no matter how weak my voice may sound,
We’ll meet with clarity on the Higher Ground.

Year of the hottest tempers, for sure.

Along with the highest temper-a-tures.

Mere coincidence, the Learned will say;

While others regard the signs of the day.

The missing piece of this mystery’s math

Lies in the two-fold nature of wrath.

Without beginning or end,
It unfolds as a rose;
Like the Generating Heart;
With Movement and repose.

They may say that I’m a quack,
Or that I do not have a clue,
But if you will consider that
I detest how conformed minds lack,
Then observe while I quack-a-doodle-do.

"Life is like a line," they chime,
Joined by "A" and "B."
They say, in fact, and with exact,
That Life resides between.

But of their claim, which seems mundane,
That says the lines superior,
We cannot conceive that they believe
That Life can be so linear.

Of this, we say, to you today:
(And, we mean it with great honesty)
The line, you see, can only be
A piece in this Geometry.

I asked the man of the Light
How the dead do tread;
He looked at me with empathy,
And this is what he said:

Earth’s little offspring,
Back to earth they ran;
But of that born in heaven,
*To heaven returns again.