We all looked for peace,
But peace was never where we were,
Peace was at home,
Better there
Than where we were,
Funny how
The fellows with the least use
For a peace
Were those who'd never put
The uniform on,
A golden bunch of
Chicken hawks,
Too smart,
And too important,
To risk their lives,
They oughta send their daughters,
Said
A man of few words,
Him with only half a face,
Well,
We didn't join
For the money,
Did we?
Can there really be peace,
In the place we left
To go to war?
I thank God my son is
Back there,
I'll ask him,
When I see him,
Next.

I take another gulp of the freedom
of life deep into my being
happy to be and to be aware
the spirit world holds me fast
where I become part of everything
and my little existence holds
eternity within and without
all known and unknown creation
yes I am loved that much
yes we are loved that much

There's hope.
There's hope to the man standing with the sign, only to pay his rent.
It was in that moment when I realize I had not been grateful all of these years, there could be so many reasons why he's standing there and it seems someone with nothing would be standing there broken.
But him? He's standing with pride.
Some people are so poor all they have is money. Funny, because I see he's content with a dollar or even some cents. Some even handed him nothing but still he is more content than you and me put together, but yet we have everything.
Tell me how come we're so stressed when a poor man can smile and the cause be a nickel
Tell me why those who have everything are complaining and he's been struggling all while
I've never heard of a poor man complaining, only striving, walking and hustling.
Everyone needs a poor man's hustle, right?
And it's those people who give me hope, standing on a thread about as thin as your hair and still have not given up on life.
You give me hope.

I found peace in the deepest shade of black, where light was scared to reach. So far buried in those depths, only I could decipher. Too many broken pieces of me lay bleeding, chipped in guilt and ashes of my hope. Don't try to heal me, love, I'm gone too far. Don't try to find me in these dense shadows, love, they'll pull you down into black agony I'm burning within.

Patience.
Sometimes the word is hard to even say.
When one moment..
When one  outcome....
Fuels the need to rush.
Instead of enjoying a slow and detailed way.
As The future is always uncertain...
Not even a Psychic on a hot-line can tell you a sure outcome for such..
The heat starts a boil....
Inside of our souls.
To quicken to an answer to our questions to "What?"
Like a child awaiting Santa on a Christmas Evening....
We  push until speedy answers become a crutch.
As we rush we create our own diluted outcome or result to a passion..
A finished product...
A Sealed Deal at Work....
To hear an answer "right away!"
We fail to see a more beautiful "finish line" as in the tale of "the Tortoise and The Hare"
Who race against each other in deep passion.
The Tortoise wins by being himself, "Slow and Steady."
While the Hare burns up the track and himself to powder
Due to his ill-faded "speedy line" fashion.
Rushing burns the future to a thin and diluted soup
As we allow the moment, instead, to slowly simmer and cook...
We enjoy the spoils of flavor as we follow the steps..
Enjoying the pages read when cooking up memories in
"Life's Cook Book."

agricultural sabotage remains incoherent,
not that it’s a secret that moneys evil.
Rio+20 on the health of our planet,
ignore the ******* thing that's causing the most damage.

you're all *******, it's a miss not a hit.
Forget shorter showers and the flick of a switch.
Transportation is not the only problem.
whats the biggest ******* industry  
causing global warming?
The UN doesn’t even ******* know.
When they served up beef, I thought it was a sick joke
Smoke and mirrors, gas and granite
The meat industry is killing our planet

And as humans, we tend to digress.
Makes sense how we all eat things we cannot digest.
you smiling? who do think you're hiding from?
You still believe in fairy tales and I'm the one,
who's dumb
Because I actually give a ****, with an open third eye I can see the grit.
The pain, the torture that we inflict, then ironically endure when we swallow that ****

I live in the dreary depths--
A refining desolation,
An isolation from normality.
Sometimes too much--
I cannot completely decipher
The feeling--I want it to end.
But aye--
The end--
Is it a sleepless dream in
The depths of night?
Yet every time I dream of it
I remember the feeling,
The passion,
The hope.
I may not last,
But only to dream of you once more.