There is not one
Which I have not rewarded,
One I have not punished.
From Cyrus To Moses
And each of their children,
That is their nations.
From Rome to Germany
And their siblings,
That is their family.
You stand with your tribe
And you stand against the species.

Despite the hardships we endure,
And of the misfortune visited upon us,
There is much opportunity for joy
If we are brave enough to discover it
And venture to uncover it.
Friendship like romanticism
Giving us momentum,
And belief like passion
Giving us objective.
But will you make the journey
Or settle where you have started?
Will you call home wherever you landed?

Fall on your own sword;
If you must die
Do it on a hill
On which you shall be revived.
From where at its summit & base
A well should spring
Of water which you may both wade,
Clean enough to be drank.

By both, either side,

Whether Abrahamic or Pagan
Both religious & spiritual.
By whatever side walked
Around the waterhole,
No matter the kind of animal.
Any coast situated near the ocean,
Any forest covered with trees,
Any open & vacant clearing.

As we enter and branch off
In & as each different stream of water,
Let us share flow equitably as pressure,
May no loose colmation of ignorance
Seperate us. To the maturity of our emotions
And to the equality of our intellect;
May we wash away
All the built up silt and dead rot,
Which if without purpose
Only exists as an obstacle
Toward greater understanding.
May we wind & wade not
Where we face arrest by impasses
But are found by oceans.
May we be worthy,
That we walk away
More than we entered.

If progress meant evolution
Which was the resurgence
Of a previous adaptation
Since dormant but readopted,
Would you deny it & shun it?
If after some period
The same was once again true
For this only recent change,
Would you embrace it & transform?
Willing to take flight,
Willing to cocoon?
Willing to immerse,
Willing to emerge?
By the same notion,
If the divergence required
Was new or exotic,
Would you welcome something extraordinary?
Would you accept & learn from your failures
And share in the fortune of your successes?
Would you help others to grow?
Will you sicken to septic & go toxic
Feeding from discarded wastes
As like ******* overgrowth?

It's a funhouse of smoke and mirrors,
Where the unnatural angles & fumes
Have clearly affected their proprietors.
It's an old-timey, ****** circus;
The performing artists are mismanaged
By ringleaders who may be animals.
It's a rigged boardwalk game;
The hoop's too small or pegs too thick,
Baskets too tight or ***** too corpulent.
You can hit it square on,
Swing the hammer with a force sufficient,
But the bell hasn't been ringing.
Grab a hotdog,
Order a slice,
Get your popcorn & crackerjacks,
Your cotton candy & cream iced.
That sugar is a rush,
Like laffy taffy freebased off of a fish which is Swedish.
Get in your distractions,
Cause I don't forsee you winning.

In the storm, the butterfly folds,
its wings shattered, its soul cold,
resting, as the rain carves paths of pain,
each drop a memory of what once remained.

We are no different,
torn by winds, broken by time,
waiting for the silence that never comes,
clutching at fragments of hope,
drowned by the weight of our own breath.

It’s easy to believe that rest is peace,
but we know—
there is no solace in stillness.
Only the crushing weight of what’s lost,
what’s never to be found.

Yet we wait,
hidden in the dark,
knowing the storm will pass,
knowing we will rise again—
but only as shadows of who we once were.

I’m the marrow in your doubt,
The splinter when you reach out,
Static in your clear transmission,
A fracture dressed as definition.

I’m the bruise beneath your pride,
The grin your guilt can’t hide,
A cipher etched in sleight of hand,
A kingdom built on shifting sand.

I’m the hunger in your feast,
The echo posing as the beast,
An atlas with no map to give,
The ruin in the way you live.

I’m the ache you chase to cure,
The flaw that makes you sure,
Not the ending, nor the start—
Just the shadow stitched to heart.

A fragile glass of reflection,
I stand still watching it echo.
It shows a face being allegro.
He knows our presense very well,
That we have inevitable connection.

How could my face look?
Ohh! Such a innocent book.
Clean eyes, eye brows are high,
A gentle surface of beauty,
Is the heart express such purity?

Yet still, the mirror is a lie
How could you look inside?
On the truth hidden from our eye,
The gateway to the soul such divine,
Only to be lost in a hollow cry.

When my body sleep for eternity
Who will see my body,
Burning slowly, turning to ashes
While their memories of me flashes
Not everyone could be there for me
But I know for sure, there is my family
Ohh! How could they much endure?
When i'm in a state that can't be cured.
In my darkest time, their presense is enough
I'll be watching them because life is tough.
They sitting beside me talking to my tree
I can't talk back because i'm now free.