When bigotry does rise
what part of us then dies?
Much Spirit becomes lost;
that is the final cost.
Our wisdom of the past
in ‘progress’ fire we cast
for our ‘truth’ so unreal;
the coin in which we deal.
We pillage and rape
while our Spirits scrape
the scraps left behind
by the souls that we bind
in the yoke of our might
that we think makes us right.
So slowly do we learn
that we need what we burn.
We now must refill
what Spirit is still
buried deep in our heart
where all truth does start.

About a foolhardy florilegium

Nullius addictus iurare in verba magistri, quo me cumque rapit tempestas, deferor hospes.
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