in all the world and all it’s gold
we find only the time to hold
our loved ones dear when we have time
the rest is spent within the grind.
if only we let the roles reverse
and instead weren’t focused on the purse
we could live our lives with best intent
and find ourselves the more content.
we have been sold that the highest calling of all is wealth & power, masked in a shroud of religious principle, marketed as purpose. we have convinced ourselves that we must look, feel, act, and live a certain way. we have done this in order to fit in with others that are equally lost. we have allowed those few who have enough wealth & power to control messaging and legislation and content. we have created and lived in a system that gives us the perception of choice, while driving us like cattle towards the inevitable unhappiness of not owning enough, doing enough, being enough. we have perpetuated these notions as we see no other way. we believe a little more money, a few more things, and the perception we portray to others is the price of admission to contentment.
wealth & power are a mirage in the desert, constructed by the few that possess them. the price to admission into their club is one of blood, spirit, soul. to escape their clutches is to succeed. to change their power base is the only way to bring about systemic change.
we will watch them destroy our environment, limit our freedoms, control our money, dictate our workload, and divide our beliefs. we will grumble as they do this. we will stamp our feet and shout at their control. but we will not see change by acting the same. we’ve been led to believe that we win and lose through us versus them. we’ve been fed the idea that life will be better if our party, our people, those who hold our beliefs are in power. but the puppet masters’ strings control all sides of the system. the strings they pull tug at our hearts and minds, while the rape and pillage of our world and our people continues unmolested.
we win with love. we win by putting people over profit. we win by caring for each other – all people. we will win when we appreciate there is no victory – there is only purpose in peace. there is only purpose in love. there is only purpose in gratitude. there is only purpose in acceptance.
purpose & peace.
bone-aching exhaustion radiated through him. his sleep had been troubled lately, fitful wandering with fleeting moments of peace. he longed for motionless, thoughtless sleep. for uninterrupted solace, and to wake without cause.
Amanda turned the corner and trotted towards the door. As she grasped the knob, she felt the urge to turn and run.
He’s not here for you. He’s here for it.
The cold metal on her palm felt especially cold – her palms always sweated when she was nervous. She summoned the courage and swiftly opened the door, inadvertently pushing too hard as the knob slipped out of her dampened palm. With a loud crack, the door slapped against the back wall and seemed to shiver as it slowly made its way back towards her.
Not the entrance I wanted to make.
Five sets of eyes all slowly tracked her progress as she made her way to the table.
All she saw were his.
Young waves run up the shore, yearning for the arbored tops beyond the sandy sea.
Their melodic, methodic motherly swells ever beckoning them back to the depths.
Salty tears are shed for the life they’ll never know among the pines and palms.
Psalms those breakers will speak to the tree tops; whispers will build to roars before calming for a moment, only to sing their songs anew.
if at the end, it’s just you, me and our dreams. that is enough. our spirits will whisper of the memories we made. we will tell stories to those who’d forgotten. and entwine in the wisps of a gentle breeze.
deep down, we all want to be present for the end of the world. just not before our time. and not before we’re ready.
it came with a whisper instead of a roar. we did not see fire in the sky or screams of protest. we crawled towards the end; a beggar dragging himself towards a mirage in the desert.
those that created this barren planet were largely the only to survive, hidden deep within their caves and bunkers, hoarding the few resources left. those of us left outside are ever searching for their steel doors in the ground.
we don’t consider it murder. it was murder when they gouged ever deeper into the earth, searching for remnants of materials once common, then precious, now extinct. it was murder when they chose to cut off the water they owned, instead of using it for thirst – both human and plant. it was murder when they retreated and left the outsiders for dead. it was murder when they started using the word ‘preservation’. ironic, really, those that chose to rape the natural world and scoff at those that tried to reverse the trend, now the very same to use that word. preservation.
we think there are thousands of them. those that saw the end coming, and could afford the technology, space, time to build – and defenses.
The stars in the sky glimmer with the hopes of reflecting in your eyes.
Generations have sped past, worlds formed and civilizations were built and conquered.
All just passing time to wait for the day you arrive, you look at me, and you smile.
the melt water jogged towards the base of the slope, urged onward by the soft autumn sunshine. this was the first snow of the season – surely to melt, and just as confidently to whet the appetites of all searching the year for the depths of winter. the snow barked underfoot, bare patches of earth visible where feet and hooves and paws had trodden. it promised to be a dreary winter; dark, cold, covered in the monochrome winter in the mountains bleaches all with. but with winter’s dark comes the gentle glow of a campfire, hearth, or candle’s fire. with winter’s cold comes the warmth of a home. brimming full with simple joys of fresh baked bread or a well worn blanket. with winter’s snow comes it’s silence, it’s total calm. with winter’s drear comes it’s contentment, it’s simple pleasures.
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