Once there is nothing left to gather
The sowing does not immediately begin again
Everything we’ve prepared for must follow our design
Deliverance comes but between each harvest
If even the best laid plans sour
Who provides us when we’re at a loss?
The measure from survival to comfort
Tastes like a reward for something…
If hard work doesn’t pay off
And the slanderous are rewarded
What benevolent eye is privy to it?
Where are the footprints in our muck?
The consequences of inaction
Reap heavily at the soul
An anxious hostility ignites
And passes but with a puff of air
When we are lost, we look to the familiar
When we starve, we hold back energy
When we go blind, we smile inside
But the sage told me, ‘Love is blind’
The revolution is loving-
-Love the revolting
❤
You will be able to stay at home, brother.
Wrecked 'em? Damn near killed 'em! 