At times I harvest harboured feelings with weedy roots.
It is said a thorn is a twig which resisted to produce fruit,
The overly informed fool not wanting to give in.
I bestow a gift unto generations,
The gift of travel.
I let them be travellers of light,
Speed taking them back to the future of their ancestors.
When troubles come bunny hop through these rays,
Go back to the good old days.
Go back to your past when,
Booze turned a strong woman to a flooze.
When one glass of wine made your father beat your mother for no good reason,
When you knew nothing could be done.
I In my dreams were given three chances and three wishes.
I could’ve wished for luck to stay with me,
I could’ve asked for a million more,
I could’ve wanted to see what my future boar,
Instead I wished for something more.
I firstly wished for God to forgive us all,
I fell on my knees up on a million shards of a broken heart,
Blood trickled down my legs flooding the room,
Wishing and pleading for forgiveness for all while my eyes leaked filling the sky with rain.
I secondly wished for,
The end of ignorance,
I wished for the normal fool to change his ways,
I wished his heart be open to what truly lies in front of him.
Before my last wish,
I pondered and wondered,
How would I feel if I be astound?
How can I speak clearly without making a sound?
I could’ve wished for spoken word to be with us all,
I could’ve asked it resides in us more,
But Like the morning sun it dawned on me,
We are word.
This is when I wished for word war 1, the battle of greats,
Where word would reveal the greatest of all,
In my wishing the reincarnation of Shakespeare is still unknown,
Could’ve been marked at birth,
his birth place could’ve been On the low, burning,
Solo citing poetic fire.
The war should start round about now,
Will you miss it?