Misanthropic

The route that one does not take is the one that could never be found.

The trail is elusive, hidden behind brush, only a few have meandered on its tracks.

One must go this route alone. The plans fell through. The universe won’t allow what once one thought could be true.

Delays, varmints, dirty deeds, where’s the reciprocity. Misbegotten, misunderstood, misanthropic. Humankind has lost all decency.

This is the time to recall that hidden chain. Nothing left to lose or in vain. Make sure to brush your prints from the entrance.

Not everyone deserves your heart. Especially when it is rare. Sharing was not the correct call.

When the light is bright, they want to take it all. One must preserve that light. We only have one.

Others will dim it, melding perhaps with one’s own shade. The webs will be spun. Inadvertent or not, it will hold fast.,

Stalled, stuck, giving up.

It will not last. Head down, into the wind, one must not break. Let it be.

Recall that string one dropped into the ground at the convergence. When you awakened, that’s where one must return. This is the new way.

This course is yours and yours alone. Tell no one. Walk it until the dawn of a new day.

Only the wild ones know this trek. This is for all the ancestors, all those who walk with you, never forget.

Take up your destiny. The less traveled switchback to the mountaintop. A beacon of brilliance don’t look back.

Cultivate

But don’t break your own heart.
Things will fall into place, or they won’t.
The illusion of control must melt away.

We time and again try to control a semblance of some facet which we then ultimately destroy.
One can wait their whole life, for the most perfect manifestation.
Breaking their own heart trying to do the same damned thing, and ruin it once again.

We can and should cultivate a rose.

Prune it,
Fertilize it,
Minimize the number of pests,
Water it,
Make sure that even on cloudy days its blooms face the sun.

Pull the weeds,
Turn up the soil.

The rose still must grow on its own.

One cannot control the growth itself,
But from whence a seed,
The rose will grow of its own accord,
From within.

Under the care of an experienced gardener, a champion bloom can last generations.
In the hands of a novice, the field of seeds will never be planted, nor get a chance to grow.

Demand patience,
Demand understanding,
Demand truth,
Honesty,
Never possession.

We never own the seeds, we never own the rose,
We simply place them in a setting to grow,
That one seed can create more seeds,
Mighty forests that will grow entirely on their own.

Let your seeds be of neutrality,
Positivity,
And unconditional love.
Let them become grand oaks,
With deep soulful roots,
And solid iron trunks.

Graceful, yet stoic branches,
Glistening, whispering, whimsical leaves.
Let them be shade for millions,
Plant many seeds.

Where is the LOVE

Do unto others as they would do to you.
The golden rule.
How do we make it true.

This world of instant gratification.
We are all connected in an instant.
The illusion of community.

There is no communication.
We are struggling.
We have lost the ability to truly love.

Love your neighbor.
Love your enemy.
Love your jailer.

We all see things differently.
So many perspectives.
So many angles.

The Boss said, “It’s hard to be a saint in the
city.” You never know if someone has ill will.
While walking, maybe stabbed for a fix.

The irony is that you did not even have cash.
Police might show up some hours later.
Your blood spilling on the ground.

Love this person too.
They who would do this damage to you.
Love them all.

Divided and conquered.
We fall.
We are worth more than this.

We are the aftermath.
Of awful decisions.
Arriving too late to the Wall.

What we can do now.
Be better to one another.
Never surrender.

We ignore the victim-hood.
We wear our scars proud.
We acknowledge our transgressions.

Lord, forgive us all.

Drowning

But don’t break your own heart.
Things will fall into place, or they won’t.
The illusion of control must melt away.

We time and again try to control a semblance of some facet which we then ultimately destroy.
One can wait their whole life, for the most perfect manifestation.
Breaking their own heart trying to do the same damned thing, and ruin it once again.

We can and should cultivate a rose.

Prune it,
Fertilize it,
Minimize the number of pests,
Water it,
Make sure that even on cloudy days its blooms face the sun.

Pull the weeds,
Turn up the soil.

The rose still must grow on its own.

One cannot control the growth itself,
But from whence a seed,
The rose will grow of its own accord,
From within.

Under the care of an experienced gardener, a champion bloom can last generations.
In the hands of a novice, the field of seeds will never be planted, nor get a chance to grow.

Demand patience,
Demand understanding,
Demand truth,
Honesty,
Never possession.

We never own the seeds, we never own the rose,
We simply place them in a setting to grow,
That one seed can create more seeds,
Mighty forests that will grow entirely on their own.

Let your seeds be of neutrality,
Positivity,
And unconditional love.
Let them become grand oaks,
With deep soulful roots,
And solid iron trunks.

Graceful, yet stoic branches,
Glistening, whispering, whimsical leaves.
Let them be shade for millions,
Plant many seeds.