Poetry
This is the general category of fuckery that goes on and on and doesn’t seem interested in stopping.
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If the words were mine, I would change them,
I would never let, that poor man die.
If I could write life, which I can, but not backwards.
That anyone could have a piece of that man, but they wouldn’t all be able to handle it.
The fairest,
Would be that those with the wings already,
Each get or had a piece of that one who tried to save the world, and instead enslaved it.
Either entirely without, or pieces within,
And this song that should sing,
Of love and compassion.
Not a fake, never a fake, the pieces are real and falling like stars into place.
If they fall I will pick them back up.
If they cry I will wish them well.
If they ask for help I will give it.
If they return the respect I gave them, I will love them.
If they show compassion, I will return it.
If not,
I don’t owe them anything,
But I’ll be good anyways.
Because it’s the right thing to do.
And if they cut me off,
Then I don’t owe them an ounce,
Just like he shouldn’t have had to.
This is justice.
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One clear stone, one who is merely a mirror of what it is he wants. Nothing to him, nothing to him.
The one like metal, who could be armour, or merely just shines like a metal.
And the stone of the birth, the purple and the healing protection.
As the song is beautiful, and heard by many, it grows. It grows, they love it.
Those who have, will continue to.
Be with your love and believe it was true, as he surfaces with his brothers,
And can finally breathe again.
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The ones who I was not supposed to touch, but did,
And the rule that was broken, set him free.
The ones who whisper their stories, the ones who wanted to be free.
The ones who I wish I could have met someday,
The ones who I want to fix the world for. The ones who either need a reason to return, or a place to go.
A world that could be better, the waiting to see, the ones who don’t quite understand.
And the ones who do.
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She saw too many tears, years of them spent alone, she couldn’t hold on anymore, to the feeling of being left alone
Watching them all
All
Come and go.
Every day, the feeling of being seen but not heard.
The feeling of being overlooked again.
And it was hard to watch, but she stood beside
And held the tears of the twins that cried.
And the light exists, she can’t be stopped,
But it’s just part of the whole the fell apart.
She strongly believes,
You should all be silent, and stay away,
But he remembers what was gone through,
The one that should have connected, the one we miss the most.
The one we wish we could have run to, his brother who hurts.
Stuck in a hole, but must be picked up,
He’s not the one,
He has some parts,
But he won’t wake, until he fixed his broken heart,
Or the one of hearts, finds her way to him, through
Them.
And they love him so, and he loves them so, and it’s all just love.
Because he needs the light.
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The end of the slavery that the word causes. It holds the end of this “white” versus “black” or any race as the walls come down and we learn it doesn’t matter.
It holds people finally finding themselves, it holds the freedoms and respect for one another.
It holds the beginning, of meeting those who know more than we do, as we are slower than they are.
It holds the love for nature and the respect of the earth we come from before we leave it.
It holds the understanding that there is always more, that things can be better
That the individual life should be a good thing, but the communal life should also be good.
There should be no levels, there should be balance.
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The wisdom of the knowledge that while war, strategy, and creation by the hands are as humans are.
She sees them, she aids them, she guides them.
Another who saw, that this war is wrong.
The owl, the offerer of peace, the olive branch.
The armour to protect.
Elucidating Questions 