Tis a pity that so many live and die
To never know the sky,
To think that only phantom jets must fly.
Bigger and better, they proclaim
Always late to realize shame.
The son is not to blame,
Drawn crooked of father’s maim.
Fate threats exploited same,
And pain is their only measure.
Power is not to keep man’s ledger:
Teach man what could never be.
Yield and create, see and be.
Go not to larger.
Strength in self, the outside gentler.
Kind and overcome not nature.
Love and hate, soft at stone
Without form. Fill all love
Lost when “grown.”
In life, a shell within the nest,
Always warm with jest.
Death, only Natures’ love succeeded;
All nothings needed.
Live for the green that grows.
Not green uniforms that kill.
Even to feel all that flows.
In the end fly to what is real.
So desires to reel profit
But waterbrothers that live and die.