Imagine a world where, if we were to be asked how we identify, the reply was human.
we acknowledged all culture and traditions as the roots of the tree we flower.
and in return we harvest the golden fruit of plentiful for all as equal.
but that is never the case, when half the fruits grow Leafs, that put shade over the other fruit.
when neglect of our roots, and the soil that protects it, is left dry without any source of water to grow.
I understand its fear from every angle trying to battle the warmth of the sunshine, as neglect becomes the opposer due to fear created by the one percent of fruit that's growing ahead of time.
the same fruit putting shade on the rest of us feeding from the bottom amongst the infested soil we call home.
while they're up there taking all the sunshine, creating the illusion of differences, the true alchemists of chaos, a trick that creates violence and bloodshed over a matter so small of skin color it's ridiculous. we are human beings created by some DeVine power, that loves us so much, we all got a personal written script, all of us, how about that. the good the bad the lord wrote it for us, it can't all be good, but we must trust in the plan. as a reflection of man, would we watch without the drama?
In my heart, without a doubt or question. life is like a song, or poem. play our character we have been given and play it well, sing our notes without embarrassment, live in the moment not the past or future, and we are doing life just right. and if I'm wrong, hey if died kind, that's not so bad
William Joseph
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