One American right
One American wrong

One American fight
One American song

One American white
One Ameri  Con

If one Nation under God
Indivisible
Y
Yahweh or the highway
Huhhh


If equality won
Y
E pluribus sub human

What's good for the whole
What good for the union

What's freedom for each one
Without justice for Trayvon

Words with much thought
Wisely wrote but forgot

All men could be free together
But only together could man be free

Earth moon sun are three
But only all together do they become
Heavenly bodies

Sea to shining sea
En gulf to frozen mystery
What are we if we
Castrate parts of our history
While we curate the ugly past with watered down memory

The spiral mounds of the midWest the man-made lakes
And Delta dunes
Mud bugs tumbleweeds Allycats street rats
Rags and ruins
Like white and yellow lines we've all been through em

Don't lose your heart we're too close to the start
Of something beautiful
You see these potholes become waterfalls
World wars become
Redemption songs and until we
Truly see each other keep asking
Why can't we all just get along?

But let's keep asking it
The answer will be echoed
The truth will reverberate
Soon we will find that love rings louder than hate

Soon we'll find mute much better on most channels 1- 8
Any channels profiting to opine you only what denigrates
AM rifts while FM skates in 50 of our 55 states
We assume two makes 4 but we play with fire
And keeping score in a game that's no game
Death is the only thing that comes from war

What makes you great can make you weak
If you can't look back and reckon with what was trampled under feet
What makes you great can make you weak
When simplicity is chosen over detail reality ( tweek)
What makes you great can make you weak
When macho men can't be questioned while in seat
What makes you think is what should make you retweet

Example
The statement they tried to make
No discrimination everyone has an equal stake
But not a single number does this statement equate
When 0 out of any American lobby more than a corporate

Sample
The right to bear with the right to speak
But they can no knock and release the heat
But not one bank in jail when you have no food to eat
No peace and Justice in the street
When the leadership can't apologize or reverse the rally speech
You want kids to participate
but you only talk to them about what you hate
No words to which they relate
Next thing they know you ban the apps they populate
Now who they gonna tolerate?
You disenfranchise before you meditate
vilify right before their eyes left
To roll a rainbow of how both sides are deaf

I've grown accustomed to the feeling
of never being able to rest

I fall asleep, troubled
and wake too soon
to the dramas
of life and death

[I thought I transcended
this a long time ago]

but, surprise!
there is more to learn
more work to do

There is another corner to turn
that will give me better grip,
[i tell myself this and believe it]

all of this is for the best....
the way I get caught up
every time a star shines
brighter than my soul

I forget everything and
I am one in the light
and darkness
again

I am an innocent child
in the arms of the mother
once again

Hoping, Praying
that the goddess will
wake up
to a new world
and claim an equal throne
to stop the destruction and madness
of the martian mindset

This red stained rusted map
proves nothing

All the warrior needs
is love

And we will give it
selflessly

So that maybe, like them
we will stumble across
the reflection of ourselves,
as honest and true
as possible

And we will not censor
ourselves, through
brightest light
and darkest dark

We will not hide a single aspect
of ourselves

and I will gladly admit that half the time
I am a demon
Born of pride and power

And half the time
I try to find my wings
and live beyond the limits
of what I see in front
of me

I never believed my eyes
. . . not once

But I always believed
that
these chaos nights
of liquid despair
and makeshift relation
meant something more

I always held the belief that
I'd get where I was going
regardless of distraction

But now I'm not so sure

Because now I feel the pressure

of eternity in the checks and balances
of the dual toned grid
in which we all lie down
and sleep
in silent surrender

resigned to my fate-
I am the child
throwing his hands up
in the air

I am the moon
surrendering to the sun

Singing,
               "this little light of mine
                was never my own
                                  to shine"

It always belonged to the future

The dead souls

The great sages
and fountains of wisdom
that the world has yet to see

For she has yet to birth them

And she has yet to feel me. . .

The goddess of ideals and perfected imagination
who will wake up as I do

And look into my eyes

And realize

We've both been dreaming
for far too long

To one little boy, the world was a playground.
Everything had its own degree of fun.
And anything was a toy.
Including people.
As the little boy grew up, he played with lots of people
Using his smile and his words.
To him, they were toys.
Easy to use, easy to throw away.
Until he met a girl.
The girl didn’t want to be a toy.
She wouldn’t be a toy.
She was defiant.
She was special.
She stood out.
To a boy who thought the world was a playground,
And wanted to keep it that way,
The girl was in the way.
So he kept her close,
Not realizing he was becoming quite attached.
But after seeing her smile at another,
He became angry.
But when he tried to throw her away
She escaped.
For years, the boy never saw her again.
The boy grew into a man.
And, though he still saw the world as a playground,
He never forgot her.
Sure, he tried.
But she always came back.
Making little comments in his head.
Sometimes, he could see her face.
And he would reach out.
But she would turn away.
The man was filled with regret.
He would do anything
Just to see her again.
So imagine his shock,
And his smile,
When he found her again.
He apologized.
And begged, for the first time in his life, to start over.
But this time,
She wouldn’t be his toy.
He swore to her he wouldn’t play with her.
Instead,
He would make her his equal.
He would make her his only.
He would make her his wife.
To a boy who thought the world was a playground,
She was his friend.
She was the one.
She was his
Love.
The world was just a playground...until he found her.

music is the potential to dwell deep into the impossible and make it known
with the possible. . .
that is what one hears. . .it is not possible, for hearing is far more then just hearing,
patiently hearing, then one is hearing
one's voice guiding them, to happy dwelling, healing them. . .
understanding clearly the path of others, not ever having to shove. . .
no one steering them. . .
except the eye for the equal happiness of the knowledge of the impossible

It’s a place where an enticing bay sways,
Music dancing on the misty breezes,
Humdrums of level heads mingle effortlessly,
The constant waves lap up on indigo stacks,
The sun sits bejeweled in the sky,
Sandy stalks of sugarcane sweeten the air,
Drink and pleasure abound,
Vagabonds and harlequins twirl and chant,
The dusk and the dawn live together,
Creamy silver and golden haze weather,
The aesthetic is O so grand,
Celebrations of life here in the sand.

Mad trolleys take them to the city,
The hustle and bustle reduced to saunter,
Adornments of every shape and design,
Line the alleys and canals,
Flora and fauna engrained in the DNA,
Every bit of the city breathes, sighs and laughs,
Back at the bay they all rest together,
Making love by driftwood fires,
They sing like mad poets and howl to one another,
Everyone becomes an instrument,
Everything becomes equal.

One does not always require tusks
and wild skins,
to mask a unique character of fantastic minds.

Nor not even african pride or
Indian smiles to dance beneath
the shadows of night sky.

The realm of spirits transforms
and defines
and so we become the role.

This identity a masquerade forgets
the solid wall.

Transported to enlightenment
never cheap a pennies take,
the veil a pale distinct
divide of hellish pits and
man divine.

And life in equal opportunity
netted and painted black,
charcoal molds and molasses holds--
as water cleans the eyes.

So jester's trick the reality switch
and illusion an eerie play,
Sweet aromic sage
burns and balances
the human cage.

RUSH
"SUBDIVISIONS"
Words by Neil Peart, Music by Geddy Lee and Alex Lifeson

The Trees
There is unrest in the forest,
There is trouble with the trees,
For the maples want more sunlight
And the oaks ignore their pleas.
The trouble with the maples,
(And they're quite convinced the're right)
They say the oaks are just too lofty
And they grab up all the light.
But the oaks can't help their feelings
If they like the way they're made.
And they wonder why the maples
Can't be happy in their shade?
There is trouble in the Forest
And the creatures all have fled
As the Maples scream 'Oppression!'
And the Oaks, just shake their heads
So the maples formed a union
And demanded equal rights.
'These oaks are just too greedy;
We will make them give us light.'
Now there's no more oak oppression,
For they passed a noble law,
And the trees are all kept equal
By hatchet,
Axe,
And saw.
by Rush

She lit a cigarette. It made a whispering inhale and exhaled a thin white thread of smoke. The woman smoked, despite that she never really liked neither the scent that stayed on her skin and clothes, nor the effect of nicotine, which was lost after a couple of packs. One day she started smoking to manifest her freedom, today she is smoking to entertain herself. It is entertaining for her to exhale white clouds out of lips and try to recognize a moments of innocent happiness in them. Each moment spent with a cigarette reminded about all other moments, which were earlier, younger...
She inhaled again and in the exhale smiled. The white mist coming out of her red lips looked magically. But it was not the cigarettes; it was her special elite beauty that made the bench she was sitting on so attractive… expensive.
Today she was in black. Luxurious half dark stockings with a black line, shining spike heels, a strict skirt and a costume, which accurately underlined her breast, in a way that gives to any passing by man an insuperable longing to undo one more button, just one more button…
If I said that her face was beautilful, that would mean nothing. The beauity of her face could be equal only to the sensation of a hot chocolate on a tip of your tongue.
Smooth, white skin, without any face’ powder. Skin that would make you touch it, and slide through it with your cheek, to find out if it is real, or to feel how real it is… Just that would be a best psychotherapy that nobody ever offered you.
What does she want?  What she doesn’t need, it’s an attention… She is hungry for something sincere that rises right from depth of the soul, nurtured by warmth of the heart, delivered by the means of good thoughts and sensible words that would nurture and cure her heart… But all she has it is smoke of the cigarette. What an unfair trade…
She smiled again. What is she thinking about? May be about the age when she was a little girl and promised her mom to be a good girl. Or about a little boy who was the first to say that loves her... and the last man who meant it... or meant it in the way she needs it now. She remembered how she used to sleep cuddling with her dad, a man of the strong cologne, big hands and passionate embrace. Oh, how she wanted just to sleep next to somebody like her dad… Strong, warm, silent, sincere…
She is not smiling… Please don’t cry. Don’t cry. Client is coming…
-Hello, How are you?
-I’m perfect today! What about you?
-Apartments are there, how much is one hour?...

for Greg Guenther

A giant pendulum in the cosmos swings
    and guides each planet on its tether
Earth’s axis tilts toward fairer weather
     And soft rains presage new beginnings.

Crocuses push the snow aside, a bluebird sings
      of light and darkness held in equal measure.
Pastel fingers on each bough gather
      as birds and beasts pursue their matings

Softened fields invite the tillers’ blades
      submerging seeds for the rain and sun
to raise into fields of corn and wheat.

The pendulum arcs back and summer fades,
    Earth's axis returns to a cooler inflection.
and farmers bow thanks for the harvest complete!

December, 2006

The presence of Wonthelimar, is invisible before Borker but epically static in his balustrade, and in all the rings that chorally wore them for each patronage of the general Diádoco Seleucus examining him next to him, even more having betrayed the Hellenic legacy, by an orthodox Hellenic one in the disappearance of Alexander the Great in Babylon, without knowing that he had been rescued by Wonthelimar, surpassing the limits of the rings of stefánes Íbix, or Hoops of ibex, like nano kvantikoí daktýlioi, Nano-Quantum Ring auguring sensitize the dermis and its carpal phalanges. From the intertestamental, such as in Vóreios, here passages from the Old Testament are explored that Say...: “The temple that was the only legitimate sanctuary of the Israelite people contained within it the Ark of the Covenant, a golden altar, and candlesticks of the same metal., a table with sacred loaves and other utensils used to carry out the worship of the god Yahveh. It was located on the esplanade of Mount Moriá, in the city of Jerusalem, possibly where the Dome of the Rock and the Al-Aqsa Mosque are located. From this class the schismatics of ancient Christianity and orthodox Judaic derive a prioris, separating one from the other. Previously this was detonated due to the undivided troops of the Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar II, who destroyed it in 586 BC, also taking captives a large part of the inhabitants of the Kingdom of Judah, to Mesopotamia, leading to the exile and captivity of the Hebrews in Babylon.

Judicious Borker of this premonition takes the Ibic Rings and selects one of them to unite with the first Zefian Arrow, as nano Kvantikoí Daktýlioi, quantum Nano-ring, to occur in future similar events, avoiding invasions that cause looting and destruction of the temple to be built on Patmos. Nano-scales for Borker's nanotechnological conception, and estimates of threats of invasions and climatic changes, in one billion (109) and one billionth (10-9). In a meter there are one billion nanometers or, in other words, a nanometer is one-billionth of a meter. For those who will have to configure the dimensions of the Mandragoron "Temple of Vernarth" with carbon atoms, the support will be made in chemical units for the re-conception of nature, and its two or three-dimensional networks. The nanotubes with 60 carbons, distributed in 20 hexagons and 12 pentagons, according to the geometric patterns of the cellular scale, in the conformation of the Hexagonal Primogeniture, being in this way concealed by the Ibic Rings for each linear meter, and cubic. Traced by a nanometer which is one-billionth of a meter. Here the borer beetles will trap the fungi and displace the viruses geometrically from the beams of the Icosahedrons.

Says Borker: “On these stigmatized coal platforms the mineral has been activated, yes…! In the same dioxide, the twenty faces of the icosahedrons, convex or concave. Yes…! The twenty faces of the icosahedrons are equilateral and congruent triangles, equal to each other; the icosahedron is convex and is called regular, being then one of the so-called Platonic solids”

The ranks of Falangists moved triangularly in multiple directions, to reach the Austral del Nótos de Borker, thus they would form the magical vectors of the polyhedron internally, triangulating at the tip of the ram that carries an illustrious triangular phalanx, opening with its prop the areas vulnerable, to consolidate the buttress of the façade; the Áullos Kosmos, and pay homage to the apse that was filled with rejoicing.

Sones of the philosopher Plato made them regular or perfect in convex polyhedral, such that on all their faces regular and equal polygons were made, and in all solid angles also equal. From this boulevard, the theology of Vernarth and Alexander the Great, such a professor and Platonic guide, will follow towards nomenclatures of nano-structures that affirm the volume and structure of the central sections of the radier, and its foundation bases shielded by the icosahedrons in the nanotechnological scale, having physical material cells, for adaptation of structural changes and their environment.

The volume will be adapted microscopically, to analyze small particles with the return of the fourth arrow or Tetra Sagita of Zefian, absorbing nutrients and discarding the environmental threats based on carbon dioxide, to make a limiting membrane beauty, which moderates the nanoparticles that they were developing the borer beetles. The solidity of the partitions and walls will have the exact proportion of the nanomaterials, to adapt to the general area of the Mandragoron Nótos, which will ooze the surpluses due to the porosities, towards a volume highly resistant to invasions of limestone nanomaterials, and boulders that are made from the flow of the buttress of the apse that rises towards Aorion. The interior and exterior faces will be supplements of prayers of Prochoro, in didactics that will shield with the Antiphons Benedictus, and the hive of Plato's Icosahedrons, becoming a consular material organism, and solid in interstices or leftovers from the feces of the Borers, until pasting and to arrive at the volume of the polyhedron, and its twenty faces pointing towards the physiognomy of the boulevard, tracing the general volume of the Mandragoron, and intercommunicating the supporting quantum and its theological harmony.

Borker says: “if organic cells operate in homage and in larger multicellular fields, here are the nanoparticles, in larger fields of fiato, and in the slides that will recirculate in favor of the Mandragoron throat, and in the carbon nanotubes, essential elements of the biosphere and useful layers of life that retrace the rest. There will be 20 linear meters in the area that lavishes the width and height, the projection of this nanotechnology scale, will make a three-dimensional shape and a large voluminous serial in the Austral Nótos.

On the train going home an eleven hour ride
Could be a drain on the body. Thinking about all the things that matter
Mind is focused while the heart wants more
Wrote deep thoughts in lyrics
Thinking of ways to be open
Don't want to be judged or feel obligated
Only want true love but no one to be true
Or show me love
Easy to open up sexually than for a person to open their heart
Too many times lust is mistaken for love
Mixed signs emotions hard to let go
But staying the pain starts to show
Stay and love me or you could hate me but you have to go
If it feels right you'll show me love
If you truly love you'll treat one another
Equal do it right not trying to fight
I'll fight for you but don't pick a fight
I'll defend you but don't offend me
Well figure it out together give me a choice

April showers bring May flowers,
yes this is true,
but what do Mays’ flower filled days bring?
June.
And what is June to me an you?
June is Summer.
June has that one single day where the bell finally rings,
and you swear you hear angels sing,
but really
its everyone's insane screams.
June is all those wonderful sticky hot days.
Sticky hot days that you can’t possibly seem to get enough of.
June is sunny
sleep overs,
sprinklers,
and
summery goodness.
Summery goodness, how can you explain that vibrant feeling?
I don't think there is a real experience in life
that could equal up to that feeling.
If i had to guess,
It’d be exactly like dancing on a rainbow
It’d be just like flying in a room with a thousand fire flies.
We all know that feeling
of unforgetful, fascinating fun.
Everyday is like a new book, just waiting to be written in.
And every Summer is like a lifetime,
try and look back on one single day,
you know its impossible.
Your mind soon fills with
every other day there has been
and every other day there will be.
Sure, you may have stacks of pictures,
and you may have written in your diary
about that one moment of pure bliss,
or a special kiss.
but those summer days,
no matter how special they may be
could never possible be explained.
and that's what makes those days so special to you.
So, April showers bring May flowers.
Yes this is true,
but what does May bring?
Its way too wondrous to explain.

The River is lonely
it has no friends.
The mountain
naught but an acquaintance
a majestic bastion
a beautiful companion
but not an equal.

The River flows down
the Mountain
rapidly but elegantly
gently carving itself a niche
in a coarse, rough landscape
made for the tall, the bold
but not the fleeting.

The lonely River winds
shimmering, glimmering
from the top of white to the bottom
of black.
It slides effortlessly, brilliantly
yet still unnoticed by its silent
surroundings.

This River, this lonely river
moves ever
in the scorching sight of sun
or the chilling glare of moon.
It snakes, wonderfully, imperiously
slicing through rock and stone.
A vein of silver
in a grey, grey land.

And where does the river flow?
Downwards, ever downwards
through field and forest
gold and green
to the Sea.
The great Ocean
where it melts without fanfare
into blue.
That Lonely River.

When we grow decrepit and old,
Good health is like a crown of gold.
Youth is young, nimble and bold;
Old age is weak, slow and cold.
Envy not the young when age brings our decline;
We’ve lived it if we live to be ninety-nine!
We have struggled to the top of the hill;
On neither side is the grass greener still.
Life is to be lived, not to look idly on;
Live and learn, school starts on the day we are born!
As we grow, we learn to laugh and play;
‘Tis as certain as night follows day.
When we fall, pick ourselves up again;
Should we stay down in eternal pain?
Winners don’t lose, losers don’t win;
‘Tis a shame both make such a din!
One day we’ll play against ourselves to win;
Will we then be banging on drums of tin?
When all are champions playing on the same side,
Will everyone be happy with equal pride?
When we at last improve all,
Then humankind can walk tall.
We’ll shine as stars in the sky,
Watching boulders drifting by.

crimson red bottles,
are shattered all across the
soft, white carpet.

pieces of broken glass,
are left there to wait
for somebody to pick them up.

red stains everywhere,
of blood and red wine,
broken wine bottles
are equal as broken souls.
*-they stay broken

A shout out to my history teacher who makes the time to teach
for I’ve picked up on the subtext she can’t speak:

if you teach to the test no one’s really being taught
all we learn is to chase empty numbers
and you wonder
why we’re all burnt out
when the end goal isn’t our happiness now

when the very organizations meant to support education
profit off those who have no choice but to turn to them

when the ones who can pay to prep
the ones who work until they can't see straight,
the so called “high achievers”
are the only ones who matter
and we ourselves kick everyone else off the ladder

if standardization is supposed to make education equal
then at the very least it should teach
that we all have a spot,
that in society, we can all be contributing members,
but it’s not.

like my history teacher’s given me,
we need lessons to life rather than to test

it’s time we set a better example for our students
Teach us that even when the blocks have fallen down, we can rebuild the tower

table knife,
life’s
edge
forged
by fire’s
most orange lake.
from your mirrored-face
of steel
you still reflect
the paleolithic
prophecy
of your crude
ancestors
from which you
evolved:
the chipping
flint and the
hand axe,
both used by death
to sustain life,
both stained by the
blood of the hunt,
and by
the bloodletting
of rituals, to remind
and to remain
as spotted rust
on your shiny
smooth blade.

and now,
you hide
in silence
in our kitchen drawers,
and lay flat
and impassive
on our eating tables,
as though you were innocent.

table knife
in the hands
of a grandmother
you are
kind and deliberate.
you cut
to feed but
never to fatten,

in the hands
of a parent
you hang
like the sword
of Damocles
over uneaten peas
and threaten
like the sword
of Solomon
to halve everything
into equal shares,
disrupting
nature's, natural
imbalances,

in the hands
of a child
you cut quick,
and you scrape
and squeal
like a pig running
from a band
of hungry,
hunting
pygmies.

but
table knife
in the purple
hands of politics,
why must you
always cut life
so thinly sliced
and indelicate
like delicatessen
meat? can you
stay sharp and still
broaden your blade
enough to carve
more generous
portions
for the poor?

for without
food on our plates
to cut, you shall remain
flat and silent
in our drawers,
absent from our tables,
and as lifeless as
a silver bass,
rotting in the basin
of a dry lake, and
to us, you shall
remain forever
guilty.

Such suffering I have sown,
But I accept my portion,
What then is there to do.
All the blame cannot be my own
Alone.
If in the flaming depths of Tartarus there is a searing pool
It is there I shall dive, for I have fallen beneath the zenith,
I dip beneath the clouds, soon to shatter on the earth.
Likely that my plea for clemency will fail,
I cannot be held accountable for so blindly fumbling into the deceptions,
When no lens has been provided for me,
I was greeted first with insult,
Then recognized for my wit, and patience,
But low, I never parted the veil.
Justifications are for the guilty,
I cannot justify my nature.
Nor can I say why a scale tips back and forth
With equal weights, on each side,
Only to settle askew,
Again and again.
If there is enough love in this shallow heart,
This cheap vessel of hollow virtue.
I will burn it in the embers of my failing passion,
So as maybe, to brighten the eyes of another,
Whose gaze is less grey than mine.

Measureless Love

What container can you find for such treasure the beginning is the right place to start the incomparable
Genius of God is center stage and forever his statement stands he made them male and female he took

A perfect whole divided it for his sake he found and was given the ability to love by the mate he received
There is a great number that fall into the category that they love themselves what pity dogs their whole

Lives when you can look upon a gift that is your essential self with curves and verve and reserves that
Are gauged by spiritual dynamism the appreciation is selective you make the tender affection live

When you stop ignoring and release the caged spirit you thought was your duty to rule no friend
Embers of decent smolder in relationships of this kind but extol her virtues and you will witness a
Winged wonder that can sail through your heart and make your mind break into a fever the soul

Of a woman reaches depths and highs that you can and must only observe her place is the protector
Of life yours and hers emotionally we are in deficit where her feet walk lightly feather like we stomp

And sink in the mire and are hampered sorry she is more of a spiritual being there is more to her beauty
Then will ever be told reassess now your limited thinking there is more in those flashing eyes than just

A prelude to physical engagement it says the last will be first you can be sure the ever present struggle
They endure produces dividends equality is error riddled we look in linier thought processes man higher

Woman lower look at in terms of sphere like the way our planet was created it works out without
Question that as a whole everything is level and complete and still exists in harmony this is the piece I

First wrote in the effort of real writing
Unity

Order the law this bell of truth a ring. Harmony you shall not over sell.
Everything in its equal place, the ground does not the sky astound. In turn the wind it does not bound.

Only the heavens round. The universe doth resound. Gravity holds the ground amidst plant and stone, the animals roam so man is not alone.

Simple but true as a rule it is established in Holy writ a woman’s place and nowhere does it even
Hint of a woman being less than her equal mate the very one of the highest order who sets on the
Royal throne over all the universe who champions your rights and privilege is accosted and

Rejected and this self destruction is applauded by ever one who beguiles and relishes deceit
Because it gives them the advantage there are laws of nature that are unbreakable to use another

Is to present yourself as a prisoner to he that chooses to dam us all the other rule without God
And his word as a guide you will never be truly free because the truth will set you free there are

Few that would go into a home of another as a guest and commit unruly acts but we are in Gods
Universal house not as guest but as His children and we object to his parental control all

Who have children know the great responsibility to guide and protect we love our parents
For this but when He sets rules that will keep us from ending up in the fire eternally with

Our deadliest foe another law you will love one and hate the other one guaranties doom the other
Will draw back the curtain that was sins blackness and every dream and desire that has been

Forfeited and held in trust will be released to you none of us are fooled we know these gifts of
friends and family are creation of his heart of love

I failed as an older brother your suppose to protect the family. Being the oldest carries a bunch of burdens. You try to help your sibling but they want to do it there way. You try to keep them hidden but they escape leaving their own imprint on others.
I'm 6 years older than the rest everyone paired off or has a connect I'm the outcast I'm sure they love and care about me. It aways feels I don't matter everyone acts up once I say something after all the disrespect I'm the reject who is right but I don't want to be right I like to provide solutions.
I hope to one day be able to do things as a family instead of being dysfunctional I found you could give up on everything but family.
I'm hostile towards my parents I wish I could forgive them but they keep on doing the same **** grow up you idiots. I helped raise kids because you thought you still had it but guess what it's over be parents and responsible. Equal my *** they had favorites I wasn't one because I had to tell them to go right but they alaways treat me like I was wrong.

Men so quick
to point the finger.

When, they share equal
guilt.
In the alleged crime as well.

We're poster children
The few who got branded.

A scarlet letter,curse.
Many share.
But few wear.

Every white sheep,
is matched up with a black one.
To keep the flock in balance.

There are more of us.
Hidden in your slipping eyesight.

Humanity

hates
(loves)

kills
(creates life)

hurts
(heals)

Every action
has an
equal
and
opposite

reaction.

To love or
hate?

To heal
or hurt?

To act
or react?

To each
their own.

Humanity
decides
it's own
fate.

The question as humans we frequently ask,
Is where do our thoughts and memories,
Our energy,
That we've labeled as our soul,
Where do they go when our body is still,
Mute and lifeless?

Very few contemplate with much dedication on the religious viewpoint the question of,
Where did we come from?

Sure.
Someone might say that we evolved from single celled microorganisms.
Another might say that we came from the dust and that our soul is Gods breath thriving inside.

They take one of those answers or neither and go with it.

I see our bodies as a mathematical equation.
God being X
All things living being equal to Y.

The equation doesn't line up with X being the only factor to equal Y,
If so humans would be equal to God,
Which we are not.

The question is, what's the other variable?
The part that somehow takes energy jumping between the organic wiring in our brains,
To make a single human being.

When I don’t have the answer
to a problem in my path
and I want to help my neighbor
show some love on his behalf
I’ll find words of wisdom
and an answer with some art
'make sure my intuition
comes directly from my heart

For it’s shaky ground to walk on
if no guidebook’s written yet
when words are loosely spoken
there’s reactions to be met
and I'll need a wise solution
with the words that I impart
for words are more enlightened
if it’s wisdom from my heart

So I'd say it's more than muscle
that sends life thru every vein
it's the ***** I believe
where your better angel reigns
it’s the station that He tunes to;
there’s no equal counterpart
and you’ll know you’re on His wave length
when His wisdom fills your heart
  


Copyright Louis Brown