“celebration in the city of the meadows”

Apparently…there are glimpses of prophecies that need some clarity

The ingredients of my obedience, and obscurity

What happens when they voice opinions that put some fear in me?

What will my mind do then, when I am faced with horrid gestures, that create the beacon to the oppressor’s prosperity?

I’m dedicated by the means to relating to a widow’s pain

The anguish in my actions, planted into the depths of what remains

Cradled and whispered softly

Abiding by the false hope of fame

The riches they obtained

Aren’t the riches I’ve sought out to seek

It’s nature and the spirit, the wealth in the letters in my name

I’m speaking, rather than manifesting this culture, sharpening the pencils, with the ink coming from the passion in my veins

Triumph is the disclosure

The garden of truth, we lay in our position within this frame

As the stills continue on

Capturing the moments we always create