People have talked book to me long enough, absolute cowards, but there is still hope. Just |
I climb the spiraling slippery spire that sings lie to sooth the silent majority and I look down upon them I see white No colour hits me from their now dry, dry eyes Dead. But they live. Through a fake black bound book that is read from. I sit above the clouds, and see Grandmothers loving Fathers dying Mothers trying to live under the pressure of men talking book to her Not human. Young ones cannot find the answers in the book They panic Oh merciful loving creative gifted kind calm living beautiful resourceful everywhere... Umm brilliant God where are the answers that the loving man wrapped in scriptures and dressed in white said they would be there They are not there, and panic Like cowering children Surviving on the scraps that was given to them Amen. I tried to make them see that their destiny was not for everyone to be able to see To live for the faith, not for the flying man that they think tells them serve. I see improvments in a new generation that lives for momentary pleasures not the long term fears of the bounding book tries to inflict on those few children. But. Cannot. |