[U N T I T L E D]
WSC
The way of life can be free and beautiful. But we have lost the way.
Greed has poisoned men’s souls, has barricaded the world with hate;
has goose-stepped us into misery and bloodshed.
We have developed speed but we have shut ourselves in:
machinery that gives abundance has left us in want.
Our knowledge has made us cynical,
our cleverness hard and unkind.
We think too much and feel too little:
More than machinery we need humanity;
More than cleverness we need kindness and gentleness.
Without these qualities, life will be violent and all will be lost.
I promise mama, I’ma do it cuz I kno I put you through it
I know I put you through it baby
And I just want you to sit around wit ya friends at a dinner table
And say my baby’s succesful and i knew it
And it wasn’t nothin to it
I’m drawing the drawing til da pen run out of fluid
“God use me, use me, use this life. I don’t know what the future holds for me but I know that there is a vision for my life that is greater than my imagination can hold.”
Events have transpired over time that have left me broken. Love lost; friendship gone; dreams becoming just that; external hatred growing from all coners. They say in all of us there is greatness, but adjacent to that is evil. I have allowed that evil to be the fuel to my pursuit of greatness. Trying to force a transition from fitting in to standing out, I have drifted off course. I believed I was on the path of a Neo, only to realize I was becoming a Agent. My lenses have cracked and must be fixed. The roar of my Simba has been silenced by arrogance and lust. It’s time now to tak e my trip up the mountain, and find the person in me that I have lost. The objective has been called in; location Mind; object of discovery… Self.
I lost my cool today. I lashed out, yelled, shouted; I forced them to hear me. When I settled and let him speak, I was forced to realize something that nearly brought me to tears. Like these potato eaters you see in the painting by Van Gogh, covered with filth, life gritty, backs aching, faces strained, resolve dissolved; I’m feeling the bitterness, the harshness of the world, brought on by my lack of fight. But look closer; you see the child, the focal point of the painting; that’s redemption right there; that’s potential right there. The fat lady has yet to sing.
Go ahead…..and tell me what you are crying for.
I’m sorry but your stories don’t cut it, and so does mine.
