I might not be right about it,
Because there’s still night about it,
But I’m going to write about it,
to bring light about it; (just don’t fight about it)
I’mma drop some homiletic rhetoric,
Wreck some mental idols, spit
rhymes divined from the mind of God,
Crudely spewed from my flawed bod-
y’s erected projections of suggestions from my intestines —
Though my entangled intentions may conceal pretention (and certainly do)
I pray your attention and mine go not to these lines but to the sublime ever-changing all-same, all justice, no blame.
Don’t do violence, but fight;
Find right, write, see night & bring light,
Hate spite and spite hate
Wind fate, create, make
Something better than you found —
restore the ground,
So if you don’t make it to the promised land,
at least these children can.
Won’t someone think of the children?
The children who became villains
and are chillin with their billions —
or the millions of children raised by television and the internet
Wanna bet / on our net regret?
Knowing it all cost more than we thought,
What we couldn’t know is what we bought —
It’s too hot now — we’ve got to stop.
We were all kids who didn’t know what to do —
Us, and the other ones too.
We received deceit conceived before our times,
We perceived (what?) because it relieved our minds.
Competitive intentions multiplied,
and served only as much as they divided,
Bringing us things we didn’t want to see
because we had to have our way with someone else’s being
Now burdened with he worst clarity, which we sought
Let’s do what we first thought before our rarities rot.
Let’s become like little children again,
Let’s rewind to the wilderness,
Let’s be wild in our bewilderment,
Let’s find out where heaven’s been.