"It's a past of hate" he said, "yet it's the future I slate, Unrequited fasting, children over fed, starving is a new fate, Idly divided from my internal closure, Am I to leap in joy, basking in exposure?
Though the path is steep, I will finally sleep, It's someone's past and someone's future, It's the lone one's torture, everyone's a trooper,
You're the chisel and the knife to me! They're the same! All will garner the final silent majority, drenched in blood rain,
Your firsts are my lasts, protected in your persecution, shrouded in 'innocent' authority, It's a true intent that guides, I'll agree, but the teaching of a wise age is just a comedy
To you, you the passer of remarks, you the preaching, governed by change, A grid of social construction, I'm a provider in your supply chains, An intoxication from some unfounded driver, Ruthful in piteous lamenting for some bedazzled old-timer,
They’re frail and frightened, this time truly Focus your glassy eye of compassion on me! Change, you'll see Is tiring, may we just stick and settle, this time youth putting on the kettle? Brew a hot soother after years of metal and upon it's surface lay a petal,
We, the many gods of the now pick daisies on our way, Bunching them up, passing them round as if to say: 'a grander life we could have lived, a petal taken for all we have done, A petal left for all unfinished, sparkling dew under a midnight sun,
Yet share it we did! And frolic we must, For the beauty in this fragmented world comes from the gold you find in the rust.'"
"Maybe I act in starlight" she said, "Dew under this old moon, And maybe your sight reaches higher than mine, But I'll be there soon,
There's years between us, Neither a liar, Ignorance impartial to thinkers singing their truths in choir, But I, among these rusting petals,
Stiffen the stems with strength, Rooted we stay, Untrusting in your titan depth, Picked, afraid of the past,
Your shaking hands surpassed, We are the ones who are you, Aching in our caste, The soul that runs with us is the soul that cries 'fast!',
Seen not much have these two eyes, Tragedies surely vast, But two there be and much fills them, For the soul cries 'strive!',
Always carry always try, A flower must grow to survive, Praise is not our why, Our power not your foe,
You ask to be seen, And cower in our critiquing woe, Friend, we grow apart, For lost and found beauty comes from the power you find in the heart."