The right used mind, rightly spelled, righteous,
can be possessed of virtues unimagined
by those too young to know.
Father of many nations was old when told
Every imagination in the heart of man is only evil from his youth,
is that so?
I think not, somehow,
I imagine there were always those whose hearts held hope and
hope makes not ashamed, right?
Ah, see, hope
Hope repairs the rift,
the tear through which the rib emerged
full-formed exactly what I dreamed of meet for me,
there's the story, man dreamed the wombed one before she
was given him, so
before the ingestion of the knowledge of good and evil.
Got that? Before knowledge of good and evil.
Meet means right, right, just right. Not wrong.
Adam walked in the garden with God, like a kid and his dad, except dad
was not made of dirt. "Hey, boy, look at this…"
they loved that action,
But there was found no mate meet for Adam, eh?
The plot thickens. What was Adam looking for?
What would you expect, as a very smart boy who knew the names of
all known things?
Not a voice, exactly,
more a feeling
thirst ish but worse, un-named unnameable
Oh, she is meet for me, fit formed for me, lock and key
Why was there any time when men lacked wombs?
What if the story was twisted?
Eve was meet for Adam. That's the story. From the mind of the man
who had walked and probably played with his creator,
Oh, partisan brains,
inhabited by why lies encrusted with ways and means,
how did we
or did we fall at all?
Wonder if we all believe…
What if we all believe…
Wisdom is the key, curiosity seeks,
seek and ye shall find
ask and ye shall receive
who so ever does that gets that
or hopes to, right.
stuff, can I ask for stuff, money, good-doing-power,
uber-mensch, bon homme, saint super prayer guy?
Peace of Jerusalem
Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven
you gotta have some accurate idea of heaven
afore you go saying' you got the contract
to build the foundation
All stories that end happy ever after are buildt.
Cruel ruler. Eat grass, may Nebuchadnezzar visit your dream
and write on your wall.
Mob-maker, bow before your maker and lay aside your mortal toil,
round and round and round and see
we all are, as you are, aware
Why would you call me enemy?
Have I taken food from your child?
Have I turned you out when you sought shelter?
Have I failed to believe or failed to learn?
Why do delicate things break so easily?
How can anything be?
Yet, here we are.
You and me, immaterially sharing a fragile thought.
A next moment after the last, where hope appeared, un expected, as it were.