Without freedom the brain is a dungeon
and the mind a convict to prose of self pity, improvished love,
hate and boot-leg religion.
The light is washing clean my mind from the fear of
investigation through a baptizim of knowledge and truth,
and in doing so is allowing my spirit to float-
not on the out streached wings of a falcon that
can be shot down some evil man,
but on the heights of deep love and thought.
I ask the light for air for the souls of mankind-
I ask that the chains of un-truth be broken-
free these limbs- release that brain that the future may be
enriched with Love's thoughts, that mankind
will no longer allow fear to envade the rights of others,
nor leap from the hedges of supersition and media,
and strike out at the pioneers of the Sons of Light
made in God's image, and sacrifice love upon the altars
of creatures that have made the cradle a curse and the
grave a place of torment- such creatures as
religious leaders and paper winged mortals playing angel...
In the darkness of pride and comdemnation;
such are the womb of shadows yet to come,
yet they cannot cloud the sky forever.
Let these monsters fade away- let the Children of Light remain.
May poetic life with hands that color whatever they touch
weave her tapestries of green and yellow so that
the art of song and hope, and love and aspiration high remain...
God is as the great sea, and all else is but the waves
of a day,
He is the sky, and all else are but mist and clouds,
changing contiunally, destined finally
to melt away.
Let death and evil cover their eyeless sockets with
fleshless hands and fade forever from the imaginations of men.
'God, I want to see the manchild again. The one whom
laid his head on your buxom- the one whom you
call John the beloved or the Revelator,
and gave him life eternal as if he was your
And he shall tell me where he has been, what he has seen,
and where he is going.
I want to go too- I promise I will not ask even once;
'Are we almost there yet?'