Betrayed and rejected
Loved by his father
Hated by his brothers
Threatened by his dreams of the future
But why would I give you the weapon with which to maim me?
I look into your eyes
There, I sat, pruning weeds off his grave,
A great story teller he was,
Recounting his youthful deeds with great vigor;
He had not a match in sight.
In the long run we would live to tell our tales,
About how we thrived on despite many woes,
About how we comfortably hid our trying times,
And let the world see only what we willed it to see.
Life unto death
Struggles of the earth
Gave the life away
A proud and well bred all to no avail
There is Life after Death
Not above or beneath as we think
But here again on earth.
Life is a cycle
So they came to us preaching, teaching, searching for hidden treasures
Over the gin gingerly we laid down our (s) words
While khaki killed the brief sacks brother man a time embraced
And cakey look took over the cam wood's grace