Every loss is a liberation.
The knife and the furnace produce more beauty than the pillow or the bed,
The desperate need commitment,
The content enjoy complacency,
Life can be a time to live, to lose, to learn, to love,
The bitterness of pain can open the soul to the joys of life,
Some are dying to live,
Others live to die.
When a power so great can control the lives, even the very life will of a population, then, are there at risk the voice, spirit, and love of those oppressed.
When the downtrodden realize their encumbered position and come to pine for voice, spirit, and love,
There comes a force, as a great wind from the East, pouring down from the mountains, over the hills, and through the valley, echoing in the ears and heart of each of those through the land, who are encouraged in their resolve.
When all at once, the people will rise up, first some, then more, a voice, a spirit, and a love, all screaming to the sky, the call of the human soul, seeking it’s true and natural state.
From the one and the many, the many and the one,
Forget not, to never be forgotten.