The Truth of it all is that aggression leads to strife
In my own confession I'd rather not die by the knife

We as humans have this need to supersede
despite our insight and things
We only grow when we bleed

Our staff and hands
be tools to keep the lions at bay
All our brains used in vein
when we set a blaze to the grains
now with our swords we make wars
before there was peace to balance
now we make wars in malice
Forgetting Mother Earth feeds us
from the same challis

I cut my hand on the handle as I manicure with the lathe
Spit and Curse at the ground and then walk away
in dismay
our belongings are found in disarray
another jealous of another's work diary
hands and feet destroyed
blood and sweat ignored

We throw Rocks to knock them off
but meet death by the blade
So we hammer out a sheet
just to protect what we've made
As if the mothers hand we're not enough
Surviving her change
Change

I'm from the land of the Star
my culture reigns down from Dallas
my travels are far and wide
with our tools I fly over this freedom palace
but at every checkpoint
they scan with all seeing eyes
They Shadow a Doubt with gun point
Frisky hands finger out for lies

As I challenge that my Utensil is to help not to hurt
they won't believe me cause the pen points cause mental alpha ****

So what’s my lesson to be learned?
How does my Rhema become Word!?

I flock my words like a Sheppard guard it from the absurd
leave my lessons and my sessions underground to mature

Poetry is what I breed and when I die all may see
some take shelter beneath branches of my Po Wet Tree
that drop insight and wisdom seed seasoned with change of Colored leaves

When they cut me down
with Axe and Dagger
my pen points the bullet
A running Kid like Merle Hagard
I spread ink seeds like soul feed
emotion water and potion notions
like fodder funneled, I dyed, You reed
Sow, only take that  you need
if you have a life then keep it free of weeds
cherish the fruits of labor and leave minds be.