The Sky Is A Globe, Wide For Birds To Fly.
Now that the cups drink and the world is still
It seem broken while dregs toss away like
streams without end– the cup of sorrow and
water of pain; it's like a Palace's mess.
The land the old ones trod are now bushes;
They cleared it and made an easy tough road
Now, the stone age seem to seek a cleared road
than ploughing their thick bushes when its tough.
Does manna still fall from the hungry sky?
Mannas fall for birds that seek the manner
cos the sky is the globe, too wide to fly
and we here are ants, do yours while I do mine.
"words from the innocent mind"