Breathe in a way that has never been tried.
Constantly inhale.
Gather the potent air as if it would be gone tomorrow.
Tomorrow we are workin men again.
Our flight has once more crashed on rocks as "real" as currency.
We were born too early to escape it and too late to ignore it.
We choose to give birth to immortal thoughts, yet we no longer nourish them.
They slowly sublime into the One Mind.
They grow as a gem, subterranean…their covering slowly eroded until they are unearthed.

The genuine taste of water is found in the driest desert.
It is not mentioned as overpriced or free, but rather…necessary.

Our art is not that of words, but Ideas.
A deliberate attempt to open one's eyes…anyone's.
To soar above the destruction and drop seeds from other worlds.
To abolish the rotten ways of old and flourish in the balance.
To brings us together as a spiritual One.
We shall work towards common goals and forget the nonsense of Gold.
For soon survival will be our incentive.
The common ground no longer skin hues, but species.
We will do away with Capitol and capital.
We will do away with Media and Mosque.
We will all be beautiful people, and we'll create beautiful galaxies.
The unrighteous will slowly but surely dissipate.
And our waking lives will be the idea of Heaven.

Yet I sigh as I wait. Today we are still workin men.
Most likely I will never live to see the day myself.
But our seeds will grow into seemingly alien trees,
And they shall become the new Maple.
And we shall bear the new water to nourish them.
And they shall exhale the new air to nourish us.
And for one fleeting moment in the infinite span of time…Peace will kiss our cheek.
As we constantly inhale love.

frank