Dimes.
Materialistic s**t.
Business buildings
Filled with
Empty yieldings
And fake grit.
Human robots
With no feelings
Except believing
Power and dimes
Is all that
Exists.
Concrete.
I go back,
reversing imaged time
to when I felt
and knew untrammeled internal space
responsive within external
eternally immortal times
of Earth's regenerative history.
For some,
less fortunate re-imagining,
comparing rights,
contrasting lefts
I hear no such winning exterior ecopolitics
with winning internal empowerment
and self-investment
since emerging from EarthMother's
redundant DNA nurturing womb.
But, for a few,
a time of peace
recalls a later conscious memory,
a time of courageous and curiously restoring justice
to those few relationships
showing early signs of uncreative tension.
These, unusually blessed
with resilient confluence,
may not recognize each other
and yet search for their potential bodhisattva peers,
returning to these childhood experiences
to remember slowly regrowing what went right
and vulnerably wrong
for restoring peace-filled justice
within and without
ego/eco-empowering tipping points,
wealth of healthy co-redemption
For all wombs,
their plantings and yieldings,
now still searching
through past generations
still incarnate in wounds and reweavings
birthing future health-seeking regenerations.
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