Ignorantly stomping mechanically,
They crush endangered flowers.
Words of stupidity stumble out,
And fairies swoon at the empty promises.

Why would these Neanderthals hurt?
Evolution skipped them, along with compassion.
Their ego is so large it swells over their eyes,
And blinds them from what beauty swells ahead.

A greedy treasure seeker, they want all.
Once they find the greatest one of all,
They crack it open with crude tools,
Forever blemishing the chest.

Thrice across the earth I’d travel,
Barefoot and blind I’d scour the heavens.
Just for one glimpse, one hopeful touch,
Of the shimmering mistreated beauty.

Though, it is impossible and preposterous
Just wishful words from a day dreaming child.
All that can be offered is everything not received.
A strong shoulder, a caring mind, and a loving heart.

Weak fist slam into the table sending dust everywhere,
Angry tears break stride down the Sahara cheeks.
Words of hate are quickly drenched by words of wisdom,
Words directed at the battered angels that inspire and build.

What all being power gave them the right,
The right to destroy the very light that exists.
The heavenly light that pours from every inch,
The same light they devour without regret.

Precious artifacts of a lost generation,
Each one unique in its own special way,
Each one worth more than the seekers soul,
Each one mere pickings to the vultures.

Innocent as a newborn,
It becomes plucked away,
Lost in the consuming darkness,
Lost in the black hole without hope.

As fair as a winning cheater,
As morally right as stealing from a child,
As just as robbing fort Knox.
It is all relative to them.

God what I wouldn’t hand away,
My life, to see all wrongs gone.
God what I wouldn’t do,
To take away all their pain.

All that can be done is being here,
All that can be promised is care.
Promises that can sprout wings,
And fly to the ends of the worlds.

Sick, I fall to the ground in pain.
I’m ill from what I associate with.
I’m hurting from what I am.
Such a disgrace what I live around.

You have every right to stereotype,
Yet wait for that dime a dozen,
Wait for that golden needle in the stack,
Only accept what you are worth, and nothing less.

Sorry for what the idiots have done.
I offer all I can give as gifts,
Gifts to temporarily mend,
To mold the delicate clay.