“If we do not use our power (resources) for good then we are no better than the evil we wish to oppose.”
Power bestowed down by the almighty father, to further humanity’s struggle and scour that worsens by the hour if those with the means do not plant seeds of good will and will them to flower
In the earth, in death−it is revealed what we’re worth, those we didn’t help, rather cursed, convincing lies we rehearsed, and the love for our brethren we let disperse
For what and whom have we let goodness slip away?
When a man made of evil dies, an evil man he lies, bearing witness to perception through ice-cold-eyes
Good in a man grows, like water in the Niagra Falls, flows
Without deterrent, love and electricity made current
Evil is a derivation of a deprived accountability for our mistakes and shortcomings
We as a people will scapegoat our breaths away until the last victim child of genocide stops running
We are not failing anyone other than ourselves and our dreams; the child that never learns to read; and a thousand more that wither and waste away because of our greed− they do not feed
Please refrain from telling me what it is that you need, while the once life-filled, turned lifeless, bleed, into our rivers and earth wearing the scarlet letter of we the cursed
Refrain from singing me your song of misappropriated misery because of the dreams you were too lazy to create, and make, be
Refrain your sufferings from insufficient somethings, somebodies, and somedays that never came to pass because of a life lived on your ass, mind in a cast, and heart in a dollar bill that could never quite fill the empty landfill, in the place of your heart, because you neglected those in need from the start, and continued running from your inadequate past
Misery is the only American Dream I know to last
We are falling to pieces without the hindsight of anagnorisis, and will all be the victims if we don’t embrace the beauty and necessity that peace is, if we are unable to donate a piece of, ourselves, and rewrite the ending to the story of how man-kind fell, to tell of an uprising that uplifted spirits, to no longer fear us, but gravitate near us, for with us there is a will, and with a will there is a way, and in prayer there is an indicated foreshadowing of hope, and in hope there may be escaping the site of even the most accurate scope, but hope is not, if we are not, and we will not be unless we take our share of responsibility, in all misery, in this world and the next.
Shaggy Lamb Productions, where words are our way