Why Your Choice of Music Matters to the History of the People

 

Once there was a real honest to God holy spirit

out there that was a gift of loving kindness meant 

for everyone to share; unfortunately, it was given to all 

the wrong people, or the wrong people simply stole it. 

Either way the wrong people are still the same ones 

among us now who so willingly use this atomic light 

to hurt other living beings with it on a daily 

basis, to twist them into hideous shapes of horrible death, 

beneath which their jewel encrusted fingers perform the final blows 

to these sad lives, and the creepy smoldering designs are 

put onto their hideous fires for disfigurement-- their natural beauty 

being

strapped down by brutal lies; all that's left are twigs 

of civilization and shells of humanity, like heaps of scattered 

and broken bones. They have caused such misery and  bleeding 

among the people, but more than this they have knifed 

the sacred covenant between animals and all the other free 

stars inside man, so that no clear understanding about the 

true nature of things could pass unnoticed into the hearts 

of men anymore, and cause all their hearts to continue 

to grow and open, which is the doorway to any 

fresh wisdom on the blue planet's timeline. On this cruel

 

pathway, of course they could easily collect all the unguarded 

money and food for just themselves, and steal everybody's lasting 

beautiful essences for their own privately gated walls and secret 

dungeons. This caused a growing hole in the brains of 

artists everywhere—all of whom began to paint only in 

smeared circles of red and blue, like wounded beasts, good 

and deeply caught in a gouging steel leg trap. The 

weeping has become a smoking part of the day's unforgiving 

landscape, too. These so called guardians next met on high 

and decided who should get to weld their stolen power 

next to them, for a hefty

 price of arms and expendable men of course. Only the 

grandest bidders were welcomed at that rich table, in the 

middle of the blackest of nights. The rich became greedier, 

if that's even possible, through the sorcery of hateful manipulation 

of the true facts of love and peace, the familial 

sacrifice was made, that this spirit was being abused by 

those cowards held in highest esteem throughout the ever saddening

darkening landscape is a grim though honest truth to have 

to bear. This spirit was trapped in a book like 

dried ink on a food dirty page, held prisoner there, 

granting selfish wishes on a lustful

whim or two, like a genie in a magic lamp, 

and simply made to do bad things that brought sorrow 

and shame to its eternal flame, like many a lost 

soul before. Then something else, something young and new and 

great and sudden came dancing along the road. New Kids 

came along, kids who were not buying into the old 

worn out stories, kids who preferred to dance together in 

the streets for fun, just for the freedom of it, 

who  were not afraid of the colors of the day 

or night, who suggestively hugged the moon again and again, 

made her blush, kids who whistled a joyful longing into 

the stale air, by some

beautiful ragged daylight of their own internal invention. This alone 

woke up enough thought to raise dead to the world 

tree spirits and to move forgotten mountains to roar with 

monumental lifeforce again. The first thing they did was to 

free the holy spirit from its rotten cage and laugh 

with him and cry with him and go with him 

again into the forgotten hills with many joyful echoes all 

around seeping into many forgotten hungry ears. Love is worth 

it, they said. Love is all, the Holy One agreed, 

with a long happy smile and with longer clapping hands 

filling a forest with rustling leaves of golden green.

Bonus poems:

 

Totem Poles (Click Here To View)(a first draft)

by Darryl Price