Plush cushions for a wood green hut Indigent, arrogance, and Omniscience
Learned counterpart owned the seats Grey, humble, Shamen
Pure fear, unmoving in his discourse
Pure love, uplifting in his seat
Time calls for action. Was he willing?
Yes--preparation inside the wood tree hut.
Inside the young man’s mouth Chewed a taste of bubble gum worn out
For one hour they waited Sitting comfortably, and waited
Blood Red skinned Demons peel off the roof Razor Talons swinging Razor Talons scratching at our young man’s head.
Our shamen waits, unmoving, calming, and encouraging
Inside his breath was a spell. To calm, and quell any foe. A cool breath froze the winged ******* Sending them back to where they came
Time passes A mind now healed like a band-aid covering a wound His mind was pulled closer.
Our young man returned his eyes to the wood green hut Seeing the old man, smiling for his own part A street-wide smile was sent back Leaving the seat he thanked him with complete Love for each other, and all mankind
I saw someone a week ago, In the streets on my way back home..
Her wrinkled skin burnt by the Sun Her attire frayed and patched with dust An empty oil can of crumpled tin A humble sum peeks shyly from within Her hand stretched, a cup formed from her palms It shakes too furiously to beg for alms She speaks a language alien to me Yet her eyes tell me a universal story A tale of a debt that was never paid Kindness was dealt a hand of apathy instead And the care with which a seedling grows Was not returned as winter crept close Because fall came and went, and the old leaves are spent Shed across the city streets, with none to speak for the dead
Like the world around me I know not why I should care Her face is that of a stranger to me Yet I keep waking up on account of these dreams A similar picture, a similar scene And at the heart of it The face is yours, Granny.
Do not neglect the old. As you wouldn't be neglected as the young. The golden rule.
Growing up is realizing that most everyone never means what they say, it's the proof that no one actually loves nor cares for you, but the things you can provide them with and serve to them. Growing up is seeing how complicated and mischievous the world really is in the reality we live, it's noticing the pieces fitting together in a ****** off puzzle no one pays any mind to figure out, wondering through streets and transparency of all whom fill them. Growing up is publishing the truth and the mighty glory it with holds, it's figuring out what no one really cares to perceive in honesty. Growing up is having your heart broken by those who once promised to put it back together and never having them back as you thought it was before because, you see through it all, through than and the faults.