miles mean nothing,
as long as, ….
doors open, eyes open,
hands and hearts
ready for the plow…
fallow ground, sacred again,
for the hopes of our children….
speak not of God
if you cant speak human!
world peace….
we cannot stop!
hands to the plow,
hearts on fire!
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you treat the world
drinking oil fromstyrofoam cups…the blood on your floorscries out from stagnant pools.you see no one,you smell no one…you cannot hear or feelthe cry of no one dyingin your fields, in your shops,in your sterile offices…your form of hatredbegins within your selves…you trade freedom and dignityin small shares over drinks….your world, your kingdom,is a house of…
never judge a person’s soul,
judge only actionswhether give or take.whether an act of compassion,or the act of ignorance…yet beneath every actionthere lies a reason,that more often than notyou will never see.actions have a cost,inaction, even more.even choice exacts a toll,be careful of your path.never judge a person,leave that to infinity,and when you look at actions,see both source and result!
perhaps a brandy….
the body restless, turns and groans.the shade o’er the windowyellowed by mold,the frail hands of the clockdo not move or whisper.the scent of love,lingers and stutters.the fireplace empty,the books weep on the shelf.the old tree fallenjust outside your window,the barking of dogs,the prayers of rust.children without facescarry the box into the night…the hoot of the…
write not…
or in the hope of success.write from necessity…the same necessitythat governs your breathing.and from the urgencyof the darkest hour just before dawn!write not for yourself…for in writing for othersyou will find yourself.and above all, be honest,always remembering simplicity,and naked touch!write as if a gift,expecting nothing in return!
this world’s on fire, baby….
coming down the line.and the bodies of children,and lovers lay smoldering,atop the bodies of soldiers,of mothers, and of poets.if you’ve got a voice,better use it.you know we’re runningout of time.if you’ve got a love,better lay it down….it’s the time of the cross,and the circus is in town.better shout it from the rooftops,dont matter if you…
you are…
spilling from the mouth.the lips of hunger,swallowing the sword.the rose petal fallen,shaking the ground like thunder.the beating sound of wings,shaking the skies.you are…the block wall laid,with skill and precision.the smell of turnips,boiling on the stove.the cupboard door open,a full bag of sugar.clothes worn to revival,drenched with redemption.you are…the bridge between, I and thou…