You move in my space.  Lecturing me of race and a certain pace.  Technology is a totem in a distant place.  Now watch, how this group of neanderthals keep a solid march.  You God?  You drinking whisky?  It seems some are dis-grunted, heavily armed while inflated of the portions.  Remote control take your ego in absorption.  You a hazard to a natural throne?  You want squares, rolls, cylinders or balls?  Only you know…

May this letter become a treaty.  For an absolute expansion and not an invasion smiling back to my Chiefs and Knights. Cowards ready to dress?  To impress?  Living of what half I leave to rest.  You better take care of your own sight.  You remote control worm, I’ll find place in an attic for you to squirm.  Let it be known to all the kings.  Life has a meaning, a space, for a each a place and most definitely Love without problems, colors, race or careers that my peace take.

Choose little ones!… You can do it all!  Why stop? If progress starts when you feel the heartbeat of standing tall.  Come and hear the words of the forest little ones!  Run!  To what you call home.  The spirit of the stars has your bed.  Bashing through these games take me to explore a Dragons treasure, a given with a name in his den.  Play with your tech Mecca worm!  Progress means understanding we are only one, now reflect and for yourself stand tall!

I will not forget how deep the rabbit hole goes.  Yet,  respect comes for only some, so playing musical chairs, bombing positions of honor with markings and tools, with me is a no go.  I’m no fool, but for you I’m lightning with groove.  There’s no intrusion or a weaving boom.  Only friends, brothers or even the abstract colors of the purple space or the bright night lights showing us figures with swing.  While, having nothing to prove.

Are you my friend or not?



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