Do you use the word, pure as an adjective, or a noun?
Is pure organic food a redundancy to you?
Does sacred merely mean simply uncomplicated?
And can our legal by-laws and directives be Holy?
For Moses, and maybe for you.
For the real world all words are sacred
And difficult to adulterate
But we do it anyway for the sake of efficiency, perhaps;
Or the slake of greed and profits in some self-less business method.
A thing is what the thing is most days anymore
And the spirit of the thing does not crush and chew
To be born anew, as orange, broccoli, or guacamole Tree.
I've become undigestible by the Gods that rule heaven
Either through protractor or by staff and rod.
The safe harbor you seek from the fate of others is control
But control of situation will likely as not still hold suprises
For context of body, mind, and soul is ill-defined beyond resiliency
You will take your blows. And be changed from it.
Resiliency perfected is a Bruce Lee, is a Lao Tzu, or an Einstein.
Resiliency is a boy scout whom comes prepared.
And control? But an illusion, for often your own mind
Is your greatest strength or worst enemy
When surviving or even writing poem.
And so that control is an adjective instead of noun.
And what you have control over is yourself.
Say you were Lost, do you control the weather?
Do you control the sacredness of water?
Do you make the sun rise and the sun set?
All these happen because nothing controls them.
And so you'd need to control nothing, to control them
Which isn't going to happen anytime soon.
Me? I'm poor, I wear second-hand clothes,
I have no servants and a run-down truck.
My cats are my friends, and women think me twelve.
And it's a story I only hear echoed in but one other person.
The people I meet think my totem is a mouse.
The God I greet just wants me to live day-by-day.
And the games in my life are richer than I could ever play.
How could I play your games?
I would become the totem, I would be the day
And I would be twelve, down on my luck, and ill-prepared
To do everything myself to play your game.
Is pure organic food a redundancy to you?
Does sacred merely mean simply uncomplicated?
And can our legal by-laws and directives be Holy?
For Moses, and maybe for you.
For the real world all words are sacred
And difficult to adulterate
But we do it anyway for the sake of efficiency, perhaps;
Or the slake of greed and profits in some self-less business method.
A thing is what the thing is most days anymore
And the spirit of the thing does not crush and chew
To be born anew, as orange, broccoli, or guacamole Tree.
I've become undigestible by the Gods that rule heaven
Either through protractor or by staff and rod.
The safe harbor you seek from the fate of others is control
But control of situation will likely as not still hold suprises
For context of body, mind, and soul is ill-defined beyond resiliency
You will take your blows. And be changed from it.
Resiliency perfected is a Bruce Lee, is a Lao Tzu, or an Einstein.
Resiliency is a boy scout whom comes prepared.
And control? But an illusion, for often your own mind
Is your greatest strength or worst enemy
When surviving or even writing poem.
And so that control is an adjective instead of noun.
And what you have control over is yourself.
Say you were Lost, do you control the weather?
Do you control the sacredness of water?
Do you make the sun rise and the sun set?
All these happen because nothing controls them.
And so you'd need to control nothing, to control them
Which isn't going to happen anytime soon.
Me? I'm poor, I wear second-hand clothes,
I have no servants and a run-down truck.
My cats are my friends, and women think me twelve.
And it's a story I only hear echoed in but one other person.
The people I meet think my totem is a mouse.
The God I greet just wants me to live day-by-day.
And the games in my life are richer than I could ever play.
How could I play your games?
I would become the totem, I would be the day
And I would be twelve, down on my luck, and ill-prepared
To do everything myself to play your game.
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