The big city,
Hustle and bustle,
Who even really gives a damn about the Joneses?
To be frank, I care more about my neighbor’s joneses.
Ego illuminating the concrete path before the feet which tread upon the broken dreams of a lazy lower class.
A “lazy” class of modern slaves…
If you can, rest your spirit when you can
While you have the chance my friend.
A window before me.
A window between my eyes and the thing that is being seen.
Can I break through?
My spirit often sings a haunting melody from inside.
Shall I break the window, or simply choose to walk a peaceful path that will lead me outside?
Outside, where I can sit and watch the seedlings grow bigger daily,
Exchanging my toxins for their oxygen as I reconnect with circles and my place.
If you can, rest your spirit when you can.
A house of tools awaits all who will choose to build.
A great city is comprised mainly of a thriving community,
And I truly don’t give a damn about so much concrete destruction
And cut-throat competition.
It’s too much to sustain, and I have never had to starve out others for my own gain.
Peace, we can build up to it.
There is a house of tools that waits,
Sitting while the resting soul gathers strength
And formulates designs to solve the very pain that plagues that gentle soul.
There is a house of tools that waits,
And the broken systems lie just beyond.
If you can, rest your spirit while you can,
if you get a chance my friend.
All eyes…all eyes…eyes leading to…whatever.
Whatever it is that you choose.
Leaving my own Joneses behind.
The eyes on me are an audience, all lined in a row, of living beings that will soon sacrifice their fruits to an animal larger than them.
I dance, in thanks, for them.
I take the sunshine in,
And surrender myself to endless circles that I am forever going in.
The windows are behind me,
Long forgotten as if I have ever only been here among the trees.
And I breathe…
Resting my spirit while I can.
