"…walk a mile in my shoes,
talk a smile to what I choose…"
“Trees to lungs are
like needs to wants,
an Organic Sun
to this plastic we
ought to shun…”
to vilify me…
****t, tried to
They tried to
still, I rise from
I always thought I
would turn into
my word, when I die.
But, I found a way to
turn my sword
into a pen, alive…
(Matthew 26, 26:52): "Then said Jesus unto him, Put up again thy sword into his place: for all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword."
…The Laugh Aftermath…
Was tough to master Math,
enough to answer last, rather than rebuffed
for being half a Man. Aftercare reformed through
corporal, master’s lash…no wonder we kept our breath,
even when others didn’t care for tomorrow’s Masters’ wrath.
Ironically, we died to shed the stain of fear from our skin,
which chronically defies the bred brain of the heir, our King.
Now, we’re reborn astonishment where our questions
are quenched by demystified witches and purpose…
we can and able…we bow in recourse to the accomplishments
mentioned and drenched in multiplied wishes
to purport Cain and Abel…