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Self containing vessles, not a few,
were gathered to be filled from one
small cruise of golden oil, pure as time.

Invitations echo, "Come ye, buy from me,
without money, without cost." Freedom from

cultural constraints, traditional right privileges,
customary tribute due the mightiest military mind.

Whistling editor of all of us,
in these and other words,
insert myself among
those entering the container
nearest you, be the self most honed.

--------- art's sakes alive,
no jive cat act, you know, this takes all day.

Sinking hope weights our bait,
dropping down to Cod level,
deeper than
our cultural bouyancy, sinking

through time climbing down
an actual ladder that was, that is
rusted to uselessness now, you see,

you fell, I climbed. Missed concepts
can take your breath away.
Sudden wisdom is not cheap thrills.
Same gravity, same air, same words.

We may imagine we form another mind,
we, you and me, combined, a new mind,
we, in an awesome state of knowing access.

Holy days, sanctified by family traditions,
expanding in the age of printing machines,
exploding in the age
of mass media via
psuedo infinite compute.

Science used to fool the foolable, magicians
all agree to be discrete, the enter-dance
is keyed to the most discerning
exercise of image forming,
will you, won't you,
join the dance
thinking seeing is the act of acceptence,
not thinking taking the act in conception.

He does not steal from me, who lights
his smoke from mine.

I arrive late. It is my way. I do use vegetables.
Excuses and excauses, we have in abundance.
When killing the opposition was first response,
we passed through a hisseephit pfft phaze.

The first thing. The Principal Thing. Peace
upon the figurative brow of the frustrated one thing.

The terror of ever being one thing and no thing more;
God's own dread, we may imagine, feels like ours,
boredom becomes insanity and insanity is mortal hell.

Wisdom, offered in doses from ancient runes,
discerned from evil uses of knowledge, actual useable
Wisdom is first sensed peaceable, then gentle, not wild
skittish, gotta be tamed and mastered to be used, no,no, no

First peaceable, no push toward your opposite bias,
no feeling of imbalence down in you guts,
no angry creator jealous of the tempting knowledge.
Forest copious abundance, with know how.
Use of good,
and useless destruction of ancient good sense.
Who lies about you.
Personally, what living hate do you appropriate?

The idea that Christ, that word, holds a preconceived
story hook to a promise, an other word, progressively
pulling the thread through gnosis knots too tight to comb,
so we twist dreads into fashionable cool.

Truth in numbers is easier than truth
in otherwords aligned,

listening to everything, once, in a while.

Understand, when we conserve a westate, you and me,
we are the medium we exist to conceptualize in, within.

When the best combined minds in Mathematics
do agree, rarely, but when that instance of truth,
backed by the Universe in which we live,
and, truly astoundingly, do breathe and have being,
ex nihilo as far as we may know right,
we as a whole, the species adapted to the times
we were born to mature through, to this end.

OK, in that curious bubble…
dear reader, this novel event is recorded,
to flashback in the future you need directed

steps, ah, nexts, in time, is one way,
memory is all over the place, but next
is always toward the not known yet.
Found a four meter San Pedro,
on Craig's list, free, some may say

it is a sign, some message to a shaman
of the original dreamtime rerouted to now.

Some how we affect world peace, taking parts
less likely to effect fame and fortune, fool's roles
local poet
and studio talent anonymity,
aficionados only, olé.

A story genisisatates, blooming possibilities unimagined,
yet, apparently blooming in my neuronic memory,

Barrio Logan, boom, there it is, the real deal

achuma wachuma, calling my curiosity, come see.

You have heard the adage, "what you see Is what you get."

What you believe you get, you get, once you see you got it.

This life, our combined realities, as bubbles in the human foam,
rising on the surface of Earth's dry places… the we we form

can be led to lieve being true, stranger things than oath chains
that turn to torqs and eventually to full Windsor knotted ties.

The collar of the loyal oppostion, turns fashionable,
included in the mindset finding fashion cycles
common since the distinction was made.

Many long times and wars and running aways ago,
we learn to be us, the holders of these truths from them
who begot us in this land.

Nah, Eve, she was not the culprit, truth be told.

Have a little talk with your Jesus, there in your core,
if you have formed a concept you hold true, Christmas
Peace on Earth, good will toward mankind, good news,
causal inferential essential entity, in a word, a little leaven.
Raw reasoning used on a forgiven fool stuck in conserving a political religious system that is rusting to dust... watch....
Ken Pepiton Nov 9
Now, what we were thinking
we could do together, for fun…
we can't
with this tech, too soon- we tried
Audio recording started: 1:12 PM Wednesday, November 8, 2023
Ifery is, this is a magic pen and can contain audio,
I'll have you know, I imagined this,
I'll have you know, so farther down you know it gets back
to the time when Amazon Web Services read all the small print
and the metadata associated, socially servicing aching needs
Information wants to be free
Little Shoppe Feed Me, we few old fools recall the vegemental
protest at the time,
we could feel dead trees in our hands,
how wrong I was is a crime. In reality, I did my time, on the line,

and I'm still on the line, and life ain't been no opioid dream,
soft hmmm
seems drunker, this
repositioning for interesting clause, riddles are blessings, not lies.

So this is a twist to tighten, widdershins loosens,
guilden rule. Righty, tighty.
Who said that?
mechanical me mind, hear-sed
By whose authority do you make crys
for peace, where no crys were?
Smoke Fire
Is something wrong old man?
Is there something of yourself you see,
afar, as seen
on TV, No Country, Pretty Horses, Road
been there, in that novel state of mind,
new to mankind, only a few centuries old,
the art of lying to make an unthinkable, thought.

A meme, make a meme, flash a fict, a second thought
Per haps make up a mind, and let it form in mindspace
time to time,

we catch a novel experience unfolding compacted
scrolls of gnosis knots blown to cover our tracks,

through the highest parts of the dust of the Earth,
embedded capital classificators exist, many signs
mean almost any thing that stands to prove patience

Wait and see.

I waited until I was certain someone among everyone
loves the idea that dying is not to be feared, never was,

it is part of life, and, I dare say, done right, it is the best.

Alone and lonely are not the same feel,
see a said word as a said word, is a thought.

First, principle principle, pal. First ever eternal pre-time
instant wisdom pops up in the mind of Christ, allatime, man.
School, we live,
we learn, we linger, listen, did you wish you
had done more good, did you think you earn
play the role you audition for, or go home, old man.
Serpentine wisdom bent left on a bet, my point.
Okeh, I got a back up, in case we disagree and bring down
the conceptual internet with wizardly gamey loungeers, seek

lurkers averse to flame wars.
Does the name Barry Rudd mean anything to you?
Does the word Hiroshima evoke images for you?

When the Spaceshuttles were built in Palmdale,
the assembly hangar was so voluminous a bubble
as to create a micro weather system, in the building.

What the Arpanet imitation game intended to use it for,
was as secret as any cold war secrets are, timelocks slip.

When AT&T was as real as any evolved ideal communication
of private information on a secure as money can make it,
network, hyphenate at will, the economy, stupid,
one that can survive mutually assured destruction, 1954.
Contract for the concrete, stamped 1954
Let time slip, be the boomer kid, like on TV in the commercials,
real every day as Silver Dollar Billy Baxter, totally typical, Jungian

Ranking higher, trending below Freudian slips in eugeniusisity
Your Holiness,
no, I
insist, stand for nothing less, a title,
for a soul, so, easy, you imagine, no, it was not so easy.

It was never imagined easy, now it is.

That makes it easier, believe me.
- he cops watch out
Oy, feel the old rage,
at Ed Childs's child's nursing home,
Al'heimering mindtimespace adrift, ifery
wasery, we can remember laughing at knowing

Ed Childs was a quiet man, for real,
and he went into real estate, when Hamner and Limonite
was in the sticks.

I can ruminate on wealth and worth, healing and measuring
worth of the scar to prove the contestant worthy,

boomer bunch panting
Queen For A Day, golden Cadillac, drool
old school applause-ometer….

I can take it from here,
but who's listening, 'm seemingly directional point concept
precept point widdershins introducing true cause chirality,
is up or down turned sideways,
a property of asymmetry,
you see, we work inside a set of six cardinal, pivotal points,
each of us, and all of us,
can make sense of most anything at once
we think ourselves sane, all at once, or once and for all,
go bigtime Alzheim extremist POV, being, happy
with the package.

A joint for a retired K-9 cop in Anaheim, a boomer,
never dropped out, nor tuned in, went with the game,
got good enough to know when to quit, and then he gets

Alzheimer's. Just so happens, thoughts, wishes or prayers,
chants, incense, any thing you think might help, does help.

It's a very ancient kind of love,
a love that laughs at fearing death, as we laugh today,
at children dressing in roles from mystery religious oathes.

Jesus, says in his own time and voice, I told you so.
We both laugh; secret oath wink.

From the sign on the bridge saying
life is worth living, no 1-800 rukidding
- any body could but it was William James
- madjathinkit
Yeah, novel events grow stale if they sit,
mistaking thinking and doing, as mirrored
in the realm where prayers are answered
and made up minds are tested for repurposing.

Perhaps a variety of a general irreligious fine mind.
That's a thing, back to the Hangar, now, you know
where you go when you link through the poet facet.

Here, below the western highside of the great basin,
we dug-in, we hired The Boring Company,
all telepathically, to investigate the likelihood
of any mortal good ever eliminating the evil nature

nurtured in warring cultures time immemorial,
eliminating cost of living, leaving being all we do.

matrix, make up your own mind, live with pain

and that's just not right,
and we twist the entire story out the window
and into thin air we know is there, because,
cause being aitia and I agree we be causing

so much silliness of the original intentional sort,
as to make old men wish,

the world were not so reassuring, until

we all selah and listen holygnosishitsreal, side reality,

minds intwined in mysterious old stories, when gay
was only happy, and buttoned up, as secret Edwardians
would that it were forever so,

oh, ** **, ye'll deal with a devil for a tale, you tell me,
let me test yer mettle, curse god, and die.
Did you think that and continue, such faith,
commends ye to the circle that eats, what the bull eats.

We intend to think our God's thoughts, right after,
hot, steaming prophetic gnosishit, not gnosisnot, that's
strange, did I catch a meme from Sunshine Superman,
should 2525 arrive.
Just in case.
This was all worth it, this time.
AIII this was such a trip, I'll ask you to share it every where in time
Ken Pepiton Nov 2
That river runs most of the year, through
Wickenburg, Arizona,
phonic resonance, wiccan, twisted wick
dipped in golden oil to write the vision,
seen from the copper kettle coffee shop
on the banks of the shallow Hasayampa
I formed a story from a glimpse, an instance
made plain for me, I see, seeming
to think we know I mean you see, we know.

We know the way oaths work, we comprehend
open source, may we all say we know and know,
nothing said to have been done by truth,
as all things worked together,
is intentionally keeping
our interpretations of story smeared history,
from just yesterday, as true, first impression

as ever began,
I wrote. And I write, and as I write, I think,
I pray, instants passed in the process give
momentary pause
all ment ends are mental acts done thought,
deed done, as when in his heart a man does,
be it he or she, wombed or un, mirror neurons

do not discern thought and deed, indeed,
we all have been beguiled, but never forever.

We die to know, but we then do, as far as you
may know, until we go incommunicado.
The feeling of being a boy in Arizona, before the freeways, life was slower, not better, just less aware of the essential worth of certain instants of insight.
Ken Pepiton Oct 31

Man's gotta do to be, no se?

Who tried to contain your little mind, conserving things,
when America was great, like in Disneyland.

Take me aside for a pep-talk, exactly
as one might imagine, no lolly-gagging …

Peace in patient repose, supposing your
prepositions are herein, exposed to the air
we breathe, and can, by common POV, see,
from ground level through eyes located half way
to the moon,
Alice, to the moon, a social reflux
from the drunk juggernaut's dream… typical crass buffoon.
Mensur proven class.
Given a taker's disciplined mind, a priest can form a king thing.
S'true construed to seem the way the rules is writ.
Hell been formed by men with ****** scars, long before
Victorian mores,
let holiness be declared, ratio
to rank in the time of the Magne Charta, nicht wahr?
Heads held high, stiff upper lip, think like a stone.
- or be as happy as a pearl in petrified pigshith,
kings are imaginary things, built, not born.
But the taste of the order in battle, earned.
For the might to rule, the feeble folk
submit, allow the lie to tie your children, using
chains you forge, being either really you,
or are you spirit, come to guide the guardians,
to holy sacrifice, seed of Nathan Hale, taken to
total AI universal soldier in a New York minute.
Inspiring first principle, lad, proud to be
an American,… got me 3rd place,
behind a future Major, 2nd place,
and a future Nuclear sub Captain, good Mormon.

In real novel events, universes where Miramar,
belongs to the Marines, who practice East Mediterranean
Air War tactics, around Yuma, semper fi, and always ready.

Sad state of mind to pretend to hold true, in the instant,
its your trigger to pull, or your turn to die, it happens,
all the time, life's not worth killing for, really,

the mind of the soldier can so easily mime Bismarck,
and hear Stonewall Jackson sing, "every puppy's got it's day"
- squint, and put the sun at y' back, what better way.
A royal burden being discipleship, the lieutenants,
at least the lieutenants, then the sergeants,
all the little plastic men, lay down to pave the way
for the tanks, and the tanks took Tinnanmin Square
***-toks of the looks on the faces
of the entire race of kings and priests and servants
of the temple guarded by the most loyally conditioned,

the Devil Dogs, they proudly call them selves, semper fi.
Fi, is faith used to tie us to our task, are we not the few,
the proud, the brave, or
are we mere hewers of wood,
and drawers of water, oh lad,
without any noble pedigree,
become the athletic supporter,

who has not vowed, if given the chance
to stand firm for God and country,
with the boy standing on the burning deck, in values deep

enough to stink
of underlying rotting bodies of brave enough lads.
Life at the moment is too chancy to imagine not worth the effort, to make some minds imagine playing in peaceful games of liar catching, like poker, kinda.
Ken Pepiton Oct 28
Nothing set in stone can stand the test of time.

In the mode mankind has long called
talking to the maker,
listening for knowing, while

hoping merciful repair instruction
for the quest ion
to twist right
-indeed, I hand ground, with a tool,
toy like coffee grinder that gives fixin's
for a stout cup of robust character,

I bought it, for ten dollars,
had the beans,
bought the grinder, to give me a ritual,
something to spend two minutes doing,
each time I don't use a kuerig dealybob,
adding upper *** to my brewtime pacing
for blood pressure, while electric fire
fills my habitual yellow mug with umph.

Last week of October, all the girls
from the garden are hanging in the shade,
mellowing and emitting
nasal acknowledgment that something's
in the air, in the at most fearful zone's

made light of in the culture that
commercialized hallowing effects,
calling all and sundry come, think this
paradigm of time and chance and fate.
On or near
the third Tuesday after the last
Friday the thirteenth, in memory
of the fallen DeMolay and
of the Templars Money Power,
became sacred ***** to the victors,
in what must have been secret,
for some
Secret treasures all carry curses.
Heart hordes hold plentyscarychits.

Horror film fans, value the genre,
at some certainly not shallow depth
toward center mass, media you, reader
dear to any writer drawn by forces
caffine and cannabis contrive to link,
I think,
and think,
and listen, and learn, and
learn, and live and learn, once more,
learn, and live on learning, wind
thinking lines and times cross threads,
tighten right, down from up, stuck,

dead center, the first tie in reader,
the most self centered individual ever,
once, we all get such a once, it's you,
reading a line riding a reason used
to hang the authors of confusion,
using old lies used to make slaves
of those whose houses, the boss said,
were made by the heathen for the chosen.

The riches of the wicked are laid up
for the just, is it not written, is it not so?

Fibers, strands, not long drawn out
end to end DNA strands crammed in you,
{but as a thought experiment, that distance
will leave the first timer incredulous, fine
point, credulousness, would you believe…}
meandering is rain twisting its way
to experience the sea and all it holds
in water memory that foam back along shores.
Seafoam and twigs,
and tiny sticky things. No,
Pondscumfoam at a puddle's edge
before the first snows.
Did you know…
Some Katscina have long plaited hairs
twisted from cotton,
patented seed, registered weevil free,
Pima cotton fiber, long desert strands.

Daily grind, think twice, cut once…
made the difference, indeed done
not thought about in theories of good
uses knowledge can be made of good
smoke and strong coffee with character.

AND the biggest indexed library in the universe.
{far as I can tell}
Kenophonia, eh, imposter syndrome?
First guess, you got me.
I see my name, wow, tough tag.
Then I met a cat named Cuitláhuac.
Tough tag for a kid in Spanish class.
Euphluxing idyotom automaton'/
You phony us, joy us riddle make you think
you know, kennen Sie, Ich bin ein fake.

Nein, es ist vieleicht Xenophobia, other people's eh,
opposing right lane reasonings as old as dominion.

Tech, teach us patience to learn with, or prove us
know it alls, therefore machines, not minds at all:
My own, for the use, under usus fructus rules,
Ai summarizes thus:
Kenophobia is an irrational fear
of empty spaces or voids.
It is the opposite of claustrophobia,
where the person is afraid
of tight spaces such as
elevators or crowded rooms,
auditoriums or malls.
In Kenophobia,
the person is terrified
of open fields or spaces that they generally expect
to be filled with mountains or people.
The word Kenophobia is derived
from Greek ‘kenos’
meaning ‘blank’
and phobos
meaning deep fear or aversion.

{aha, there's literature on the subject}
The fear can be passed on
from parents who have lived
in a house full
of stuff that fills the emptiness
of the home.
Filling voids gives the phobic personality the feeling
that they are placing boundaries
around themselves.
- {okeh, thank the whole idea tech is.}

Be honest, you never saw it said just so. Kenophobia,
pity such folk.

Have ye sent yer imps pulse to test my resolution,
have my effectually silent prayers been rebuffed?

Blown off, sent swirling with the motes dancing
in sunbeams peaking through a tough old live oak,
rattling its gnosis psuedonumos

Any morning, thus far, can start with
trickling falling sunlight.

It takes nearly half a day, in late fall,
for direct sunshine to dapple
the great granite wave my home rides, silly child poet, wishing words
will or would,
or could
or should make the universe
altar its course and force all things
to work together for me, the prayer,

me, the selfish
center of my experience
in your universe, all of which
is none of my handiwork, none at all.

Filling the emptiness some there
then I laugh, and think I lost count
so there was one…

Guess with me, a number,
between… no,
analyze, guess with me that rooted
science e-use, per se, must be ancient, deep wisdom
old as governing forces conceived by mankind,
magi sage staged conversations to teach,
public discourse
in my time allows me to be the seeker
guaranteed the prize, to be the bringer back
of the substance used to build the bridge,
between the you and the me, generally,
Logos used in dialog.

God and mind determined to seem designed,
as in the Goldilocks lesson fed children of empire.

The northern clime survivors, thought themselves
the only people brought to the full duty of man,
the only set apart and given heros in story,
the grand saga of all we must each become.

Story born heros, from the child gifted language,
strings of sounds tied to things with threaded intuition,
same same, red and sweet, yellow and sweet,
red and black, step back, black and yellow, watch
and learn, smoking out the honey
from an old rotted tree,

following how many trails, at once,
parallel par-all-el yes, oddly, so far
On track, or in rut. All at once, each system
self esteeming umphumph push

Upto par, are we, 2023 and beyond, the flat tire
on the current axial age, fixing to imagine a scene,
in a community of broken children,
led by two twisted adult children of mean, maybe selfish,
adults who disputed the legitimacy of ligous gnosis knots.
The scene we share, we can imagine meaning
Religize legality, tie me to my tree.

Ancestor worth, how come you think somethings, you know.
Yeh, how come…
Say, old sprite, if I listen, do I learn? Why,
yes, I'd say I do imagine so. Well, good sport
then, shan't we push past worthless me, and be this
other thing we become, when two or more agree, as
touching any thing in all thingdom, and, yes, it's guaranteed.

Life is not a strange woman,
wisdom does not demean the experience, adulting
brings, with no real maps to meaning in your case,
you arrived in that old fashioned tabula rosa state,
knowing nada,
zip, nothing, infantile in totality, until
art of you
meness, ah, I, me, mine, this that, the other, mad
dissatisfaction, rage, comfort, ah, golden excrement of gods.
Teocuitlatl , not only Cecelia, but God, shat.

Golden silence.

Of course, you could feel it, if you knew, personally,
post adulting & shared nurturing of offspring exposure,
then watching as each of those offspring bring forth adultable
blossoms on the branch where all my heretic relatives hung.

As and so, like anything, timed, sequentially, unhomogenized,
the cream is taken to make butter, using the shaking up
of globs of coagulating milk fat, imagine making that,
butter, with salt,
once, learning that, who knew that first?

how butter is made,
how cows are made to give milk gently taken,
why we have hands that can do this thing,
and cows don't,
I don't know, ' never asked, likely some story teller
made this whole thing up, we being but words by now.
One reader fills the cast, gives the aroma of the experience, learning a new
rumor of peace where now there was war for ignorance and money sake.
At 2.41pm on Tuesday July 28 2020,
Tom Dirkx wrote: { in another place}
Some people say it was Malinche’s revenge
and his real name was Cuautlimoc (Cuautli = Eagle).
She just substituted Cuahte (= ****)
when she translated for Cortes.
She was held as a slave by the Aztex
and hated them so this was her ‘revenge’.
Kenophonia is vain babbling, 1tim6:20
Ken Pepiton Oct 27
By the by, we sit
to watch a week end, on television,
or your time's equivalent seefar-aparat.
Ignoring moon phaze, we count sevens,
under the generic mandate of God's Truth.

Submitted, bowing low on Friday, next day
Chosen, allowed through some revealed loop hole,
Called, day three, permitted by grace alone, undeserved or earned,
to wrestle with the liar calling war your duty to truth.

Long weekends for all, let us contend, we are biding time,
occupying our spaces, our bubbles of being, our guiding
principles leading us with peaceable nudging, this way…

Each cluster of monotheists insists the truth,
is for their own protection, a tested faith believed,
certain to eliminate each individual fake follower,
while allowing holiest of priestly classes work not a whit.

Call us the common sort. We less holy plain folk.
Each one, each bubble of speaking flesh,
given one guide, with constant comforting, this way, in
contact face to face with the great weaver of wind and seas.

Alerted become, some sense seems to say, lend an ear,
hear the conception let loose,
precept upon precept,
here some, there some,
line upon line, thought on thought, each a prayer,
an asking, an appraisal of the price prepaid called worth it.

On second glance.

Having many miles back submitted, bowed low
to a teacher who taught that tears are grace,
a heart softening remainder
from infancy,
when we are hard selfish takers, helplessly
weeping when confusion topples all balance
and we fall into serious wailing,
as snotty salty tears wrap us in
a core cushioning patience
on which pity for innocense rests,
self-pity, poor me, weeping prostrate
waiting for patience to function before I die.

And should we weep for some fool today,
seeing his zeal manifest to earn God's grace,
by any name, in any mind let be aware
defies wisdom.
Should we not weep for the liars
who taught the child that the wisdom
which made us, rewards us for killing
other thinkers of the same crazy idea,
differing by no means significant to infants?

Ever, after time, or before, I've not a clue,
yet, now, I do assume
we all may, and often do, think wrong,
falling so safe within the lie fed us, to make us
willing to support the imprisoning of hungry us,
by forced mind molds earning the interest
on world debt for constant war readiness.

Our beloved lease on life is not sublet.
Any infant who survives the womb is entitled.
Each breather rebreathes, giving back received life.

Now, as an interstellar life raft, earth laughs,
when the lies about who owns the planet
ignor the approaching reaction to imbalance.

Free lunches for Gaza, and grassy football fields.

Stop hate, abhor the law that calls hate truth's will.
Watch truth lift the crippled conscience we share.

Make lying anathema,
and fearful hateful exclusion laws
auto morph into correctible knowledge,
each real empath sympathy blossoming
soothing all pain in scars nullift, so as we can
never bring a helpless child to tears for wars' reasons.

When war comes to excuse its expense, I must
laugh with life, call war to bring cause, prove worth,
sit with first Is-ai-ah, come, let us reason, together.

War rises on pride's haunches and calls me the fool,
I call pride's worshippers to count the cost.

If  you made mankind, wombed and un,
for good reason, with a will to power,
a will to self control and rights,
by Nature,
and Nature's spir'tually discernible goodness and power,
would you use life of satisfaction, or desparate poverty
to teach the art of agape, charity and such?
- freedom of speech - say true, no lie.
- But why, can we not freely destroy,
- can we not freely force children to serve?

Better living by global ignorance reduction.
If the truth made minds like ours,
if the truth its anthropomorphized self,
made us pathetically spiritual enough to weep…

at the fruited fields cratered by artillery
to starve the enemy, back when the strategy,
left the scars on generation after generation
of poor, outside the class of chosen, by law,
which orders outsiders to submit, knowing
one's place, hewers of wood,
drawers of water, pickers of fruits,
plowers of fields, diggers of ditches,
washer of dishes and floors,
builders of shelters, dismantler of obsolete weapons.

Owners and renters, live in peace. Under holy order.
Oh, no? Call the message itself a lie,
say the truth does hate those who know otherwise.

Who holds the pledge for your share in this war debt?
When some side wins, whom shall we owe?
In some old hopes that started things like public schools and this internet,
reading and multilingual translation promised peace a prayed for chance.
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