Vast lands were remade in design,
in Earthworks enduring through time.
Not merely for show,
But navigational flow,
A map to be shared by mankind.

Through ashwork, they colored the ground,
Carving shapes through valley and mound--
A profile, a crest,
Aligned with the west,
Ensuring man's way shall be found.

Now seen from the sky's sweeping view,
Their secrets emerge into view.
A message so vast,
A map from the past,
Still guiding the way, tried and true.

I.
A schemer set out with a grin,
declaring to trust any man was sin.
He charmed and he lied,
took friends for a ride,
and swore he'd by any means win.

II.
Each ally he used as a stair,
then booted them out with a flair.
The higher he rose,
the fewer he chose,
till no one remained to care.

III.
He shouted, "At last, I'm the king!"
but heard not a souls echoing.
The hall was a tomb,
just silence and gloom,
and power turned out a small thing.

IV.
For thrones built on trickery's sand,
collapse at a wave of the hand.
He toppled alone,
no friends, just a throne,
a crown with no kingdom to stand.

There once was a king who declared
That power is mutual, not hiered
it's not crowns or might,
But the will to do right
that binds what is broken and bared.

Sir Lancelot rose, looking torn,
Between passion and vows he had sworn.
He said, "Love is fire,
It burns to inspire--
But its also what leaves us forlorn."

Sir Gawain just laughed at the fuss,
"Chivalry's mostly for us.
But bread on the table,
And care when you're able,
Means more than some shine on one's truss."

Then Percival whispered, "I seek--
Though I'm clumsy, uncertain, and weak.
Yet the Grail is in hands,
In the soil of our lands,
Not in castles or quests that we speak."

Then Guinevere finally said, "Hear:
Those battles mean nothing, my dear.
The kingdom is grown,
When the small acts are shown--
Like tending the hearth we hold near."

The torches gave smoke, not a flame,
The hall was more drafty than grand.
Yet the vows that they made
In the flickering shade
Were stronger than steel could command.

These aren't the knights told in lore--
Just neighbors and workers next door.
With cheap coffee cups,
And a world on its ups,
They chose to be kingdom and more.

The Grail is not gold in the sky,
But the bread that we break when we try.
No banners nor fame,
Just the will to reclaim--
And the courage to sit eye to eye.

For the knights weren't lords set apart,
But townsmen and fellows with heart.
And the Grail that they sought
Was the fellowship wrought,
When the 'nobodies' chose to take part.

Three aliens, hungry and keen,
Dropped in for some fast-food cuisine.
The Grey found it grand,
The Reptile had planned,
While the Pleiadean caused a scene.

The Pleiadean sniffed with disdain,
"This menu is purely profane!"
"No truffle-infused fries?"
"No beets on the side?"
"And you poisoned the water with grain!"

The Grey held a burger and beamed,
"This substance is more than it seemed!"
He bit with the wrap,
Drank ketchup like sap,
And declared it "A FOOD MADE OF DREAMS."

The Reptilian scoffed and sat back,
With one coffee--straight, jet-black.
He swirled it and sighed,
With eyes cold and wide,
"You don't know the half of this crap."

The Pleiadean's face twisted tight,
"This order is nowhere near right!"
"I asked for my meal,"
"To be farm-to-field,"
"And this isn't pink salt--IT'S WHITE!"

He stormed to the counter and wailed,
Demanding his order be scaled.
"This burger's not prime,"
"Your aura's like slime,"
"And my chakras are feeling assailed!"

The manager sighed, then withdrew,
Said, "Sir, we don't carry fondue."
But the Pleiadean yelled,
Till security held,
And tossed his ass out of the queue.

The Grey, overcome with delight,
Held nuggets up into the light.
"So tiny! So round!"
"So perfectly browned!"
"And yet, they still shimmer so bright!"

He guzzled the mayo with joy,
Then found his meal came with a toy.
He swallowed it whole,
His face turned like coal,
Then choked with a horrible noise.

The Reptilian sipped at his drink,
And laughed, "You seein' this prick?"
The Pleiadean sighed,
Then Heimlich applied,
As the Grey spat it out in the sink.

The Reptilian leaned in and grinned,
"You think that's just grease on your skin?"
"This franchise is ours,"
"Has been from the stars,"
"And your arteries? Clotted within."

"This ‘food' that you worship as fate?"
"It's glyphosate, poison, and bait."
"Your tongues may rejoice,"
"But trust me, your choice,"
"Is one that we love to create."

The Grey wiped his mouth with a moan,
His hands now a horrifying tone.
"It's fine!" he declared,
"Who needs to be spared?"
"I'll take thirty more for my home!"

The Pleiadean hissed and turned pale,
"Your vibrance is going to fail!"
"You reek of fake cheese!"
"Your pineal's seized!"
"I'm leaving this terrible vale!"

And off through the door he did sprint,
To purge every chakra within't.
"A detox! A cleanse!"
"Goodbye, foolish friends!"
"I must burn out the sodium tint!"

The Reptilian laughed as he fled,
And turned to the Grey as he said,
"He's weak to the core,"
"But you, you want more--"
"Perhaps you should leave here well-fed."

The Grey did not hear him at all,
Just ravaged his food in a thrall.
His breathing was thick,
His pupils too big,
He was utterly lost in its call.

The Reptilian frowned just a bit,
For something did not quite seem fit.
"Now listen, dear Grey,"
"Put the nuggets away,"
"This poison is best left unbit."

But the Grey, with a slow, glassy grin,
Just licked the fry salt from his skin.
"No need to dissuade,"
"I've learned what you've made."
"And I want it again and again."

The Reptilian shifted his stance,
As the Grey seemed to fall in a trance.
His hands trembled slightly,
His chewing too sprightly,
His aura--a frightening dance.

"Now hold it, let's not be obscene,"
Said the Reptilian, trying to lean.
"You've had quite enough,"
"This isn't real stuff--"
"It's chemical slop, not cuisine!"

But the Grey only slumped in his chair,
And whispered with deep, eerie flair:
"It tingles. It burns."
"I crave it in turns."
"I could eat this forever, I swear."

The Pleiadean returned the scene,
Having purged his meal in the latrine.
As the Grey placed a call,
"A bulk shipment for all!"
And ordered it all sight unseen.

The Reptilian finished his cup,
And stood with his coat buttoned up.
"I'll see you again,"
"You gluttonous men,"
But his tone was no longer as smug.

He turned back to glance at the Grey,
Who was licking the tray where it lay.
The sight made him shudder,
His stomach felt guttered--
Perhaps he had paved the wrong way.

Three forces sat down to debate,
Which one gives our world its true state.
Said Consciousness, "See,
It all starts with me--
Without mind, there is no create."

Then Language chimed in with a grin,
"My friend, that's where errors begin.
For a concept unnamed,
Lacks form if not framed,
You're shaped by the words you live in."

Context just scoffed with a smirk,
"Your conceptual framing needs work."
No mind stands alone,
For each thought you've been shown,
Has been shaped by your tribe from birth.

Then Consciousness frowned, "But it's me
Who questions, perceives, and feels free!"
But Context replied,
"That ‘freedom' is tied--
To norms that decide what can be."

Said Language, "I'll grant that's not wrong,
Yet still, we all think in a tongue.
The words we arrange,
Define and constrain,
And twist all we've known all along."

But Context just leaned back and grinned,
"You miss how the meanings get spinned.
The past set the frame,
You speak what's in game,
Yet never outside what's been pinned."

And thus, as the ale mugs ran dry,
The trio all saw eye-to-eye.
Their roles were distinct,
Yet woven and linked--
Not one could alone clarify.

For truth, like a flickering flame,
Is bent by the hands in the game.
If thought is unsure,
And words are a blur,
Then knowledge is only a name.

So Consciousness, Language, and Context,
Declared, "No truth is raw or unpressed."
For what we perceive,
We shape and believe--
And nothing exists but what's next.

For Those Who Walked the Crooked Path, and Kept Walking Anyway
There's a jackal who'll be seeing you soon,
Where your fate is weighed in a room.
Your heart hits the brass,
You pray it will pass,
And wonder if justice makes room.

They tell you it's simple and neat,
That wrong seals a permanent seat.
But Anubis just stares,
Through lifetimes and prayers,
And asks, "Do you know what you mean?"

A man steps forth, shoulders bowed,
His past curling up like a shroud.
"I lied," he admits,
"Broke vows into bits,
But tell me--what choice had I now?"

"I swore I'd be honest and true,
Yet hunger cares not what you do.
So I took to the trade,
Dug graves, learned the blade,
Brought bread home for more than just two."

"I never once felt it was right,
I prayed every damn day and night.
But piety sways,
When a child's ribs cave,
And gods don't put food in their sight."

The feather sits still in the brass,
No judgment--not yet--has been passed.
Anubis just hums,
Taps fingers, then thumbs,
And waits for the next soul to ask.

A woman steps forth, eyes downcast,
A voice like a ghost from the past.
"I ran," she confessed,
"But I left him for dead,
And I swore I'd return--but too fast."

"I knew they would come in the night,
And if I had stayed, I would fight.
But fighting meant death,
So I swallowed my breath,
And fled till the sun burned too bright."

"I never looked back--I was weak,
I feared what the dawn would let speak.
And years went and fell,
But I tell you, I tell,
That my dreams are the ghosts that still weep."

Anubis just watches--not cold,
Not cruel, nor indifferent or bold.
"So if I should weigh,
Should balance decay--
Tell me, what verdict is told?"

For what of the ones who had bled,
For sins that they bore in their stead?
Who traded their breath,
For somebody's death,
And whispered, "It should have been me instead."

What of the girl, not yet grown,
Who swore she'd repay what was loaned?
She took, but she gave,
Dug seventy graves,
And carried more dead than her own.

What of the man who had slain,
To free his own daughter from chains?
Who lives with the stain,
Who sobs in the rain,
And knows that it wasn't in vain.

Anubis has heard this before,
He's stood at this threshold of war.
Where the righteous have sinned,
And the wicked have grinned,
And virtue's been shattered and sore.

So he leans on the scale--not to cheat,
But to listen, to hear, to repeat:
"Not all that seems light,
Is inherently right--
And not all that is heavy must sink."

A breath--and he reaches, at last,
His grip neither hasty nor fast.
A judgment refined,
By context aligned,
By lives that can't fit in the past.

So ever so slightly he tugs,
With fingers as light as the doves.
Not much--just a bit,
Just enough for it not
To fall to the beast's waiting jaws.

Because mercy and wrath are entwined,
Because rules were not meant to be blind.
Because justice is more
Than just keeping a score--
It's knowing the weight of the mind.

For gods do not judge as they're told,
Nor deal in just iron and gold.
They tilt, they adjust,
They measure with trust,
For life is both bold yet untold.

So one day you'll stand, bare and true,
And Anubis will look right through you.
Not just at the sin,
Not just where you've been,
But why it was all that you knew.

And somewhere, in flickering light,
Where gods weigh the wrong and the right,
A jackal will grin,
For though death must win,
Not all souls are claimed by the night.

There once was a god, bold and spry,
Who rode through the storm in the sky.
He shattered yet laughed,
Made mistakes on his path,
And dared to ask "Why not try?"

Through folly and blunder he'd tread,
Not shamed, but evolved in his head.
For wisdom, he knew,
Grew from what we'd been through--
Not from fearing the roads most had fled.

Now Osiris, his brother, stood tall,
But trapped in his rule over all.
No change, no decay,
Kept the cycles at bay,
Till Seth tore him down to a fall.

Yet endings bring birth, so it's said,
And Osiris was never quite dead.
For torn into shreds,
Through the dark he was led,
To rise with a crown on his head.

Now Seth, once the bringer of woe,
Looked down on the mess laid below.
His heart filled with dread,
For his hands had struck red,
And guilt made his vision bestow--

A flash, a divine, blinding spark,
A figure emerged from the dark!
His eye split apart,
And straight from his heart,
Came Thoth, born of reason so stark.

For wisdom is not merely bright,
Nor knowledge just birthed out of light.
It thrives in the cracks,
The falls and the lacks,
Where wrong is made usefully right.

Yet priests and the kings found him vexing,
His freedom of thought too perplexing.
To tighten their grip,
They rewrote his script,
And labeled his ways as distressing.

"He's chaos!" they cried, in demand,
As they tightened control of the land.
Yet Seth, in his mirth,
Knew struggle gave birth--
To growth they could not understand.

For fire must burn to renew,
And rivers cut lands to break through.
The stars do not shine,
Without death as their sign,
And old skins must shed to make new.

What rots in the field feeds the grain,
And struggle refines what remains.
A kingdom so tight,
That it never knows night,
Will crumble from lack of its rains.

So heed not the slanderous lore,
For Seth is not evil--nor poor.
He walks through the mess,
To teach us success,
And shame us for failing no more.

For shame is the chain that we wear,
When we fear to admit what was there.
But Seth, in his glee,
Knows the soul must run free,
To stand in its truth, proud and bare.

And somewhere, where deserts are wide,
Where red sands and wild winds collide,
A god rides the gale,
With a grin like a nail,
Still laughing at those who have lied.

For error and ruin may ache,
But fear not the steps that we take.
For what we destroy,
We learn to employ,
And gods are just souls who awake.

Ĉi tiu diable Lingvo (14 Mar. 2025)

Ekzistas lingveto brila,
por unu-iĝo utila.
Sed kvankam belas,
ĝi restas fabelas--
kaj plej ofte nur sola aŭd' lila.

"Facila!" la libroj asertas,
kun reguloj klaraj, sinceraj.
Sed kiam mi diras,
al strang' mi inspiras,
kaj ili min vidas freneza.

"Ĉu tio estas itala?"
demandas la homo banala.
"Ne, ne! Tute alia!"
Sed restas ili stultaj,
kun vizaĝ' de dub' tro totala.

Mi studis, ripetis, provadis,
kaj en forumoj predikadis.
Sed ĉiu prov' nova
alportas nur plorojn--
kvazaŭ en vent' mi kriegadis.

Mi afiŝas en reto: "Aliĝu!"
Sed silentas la mond' en rifuzo.
Roboto klakas,
trol' nur atakas,
kaj miaj revoj disfalu.

Renkontiĝon mi pleje atendas,
ke esperantist' fine venas!
Sed estas nur mi,
unu kato ĉe ni,
kaj ĝi parolas pli sence plena.

Mi krias "Saluton!" gajige,
sed homoj rigardas, timige.
"Ĉu viruso vi havas?
Aŭ Latinaĵo ajna?"
Kaj en mi io ŝrumpas, sen vigle'.

Mi scias la vortojn senpene,
kun gramatik' preskaŭ sanktvene!
Sed sur la stratoj,
mi mutas en batoj,
ĉar ĉiuj nur rigardas min strange.

Por paco ĝi estis kreita,
de Zamenhof kun granda kredo.
Sed nun mi nur staras,
kaj muron ekparolas,
dum homoj min lasas en vento.

Ili ridas, ke lerni ĝi estas,
kvazaŭ tio senco forrestas.
Sed atendu--haltu!
Tiu ulo en ĉapelo--
ĉu li "Dankon" nun diris, permesas?!

Mia koro frapas freneze,
ĉu vere amik' eĉ proksime?
Sed li nur ridas,
kaj anglan eldiras--
ĉu mia animo forfalu?

Kaj tamen mi restas kaj penas,
ripetas sen fino, sen sento.
Mi ridetas kaj provas,
sed interne mi ploras,
dum mia menso en trenon.

Ili mokas: "Sed kial ne franca?"
Mi diras: "Ĝi helpas pli granda!"
Sed ili foriras,
nenion aŭskultas,
lasante min krii: "Vi ne komprenas, vi stult'!"

Sed tamen mi plu insistas,
eĉ se neniu min fidas.
Ĉar en mi io brulas,
iomete obstinas,
kaj rifuzas ke morto ĉi gvidas.

Eble iam ĝi floros, sukcesos,
kaj homoj ĝin amos kaj preĝos.
Sed ĝis tiu tag',
mi restos sur voj',
kaj kantos, eĉ se nur vento ĝin levas.

(16)
Do jen al lingvo brilanta,
kvankam la mond' ĝin forgesanta.
Mi tenos ĝin forte,
kaj krios sen honto,
"Ĉu vi komprenas, vi band' aroganta?!"

There once was a language so bright,
Designed to bring nations unite,
But try as I may,
To teach it today,
No one gives a damn--what a plight!

Esperanto's so easy, they claim,
With logic and rules all the same.
Yet when I explain,
They stare in disdain,
Like I've lost my damn mind in some game.

"Is that like Italian or French?"
They ask as I sit on this bench.
I try to convey,
It's neither, okay???
But their brows just furrow and clench.

I studied, I drilled, I rehearsed,
In forums, my passion immersed.
Yet each conversation,
Brings me frustration,
Like screaming in wind--I am cursed.

I post on the internet, "Join!"
But silence is all I purloin.
A bot hits "Like,"
A troll says, "Yikes,"
And my dreams collapse into void.

At meetups, I hope for some cheer,
A comrade to finally appear,
But it's me, one guy,
And a pigeon nearby,
That squawks in a tongue more sincere.

I bellow "Saluton" with pride,
But they blink, take a step to the side.
"Is that a disease?
Or old Latin, please?"
And I feel my last brain cell just died.

The textbooks? I've read every page.
I know every noun, verb, and phrase.
Yet out in the wild,
I feel like a child,
Muttering words to the void in a haze.

A language for peace, it was meant,
By Zamenhof's noble intent.
Yet here I still stand,
With no helping hand,
Alone, speaking words to cement.

And yet, I persist through the pain,
Repeating the struggle in vain.
I smile and I try,
While inside, I die,
As my sanity circles the drain.

They scoff, "Why not Spanish or Dutch?"
I say, "It's inclusive and such!"
But they just ignore,
And walk out the door,
Leaving me yelling, "Vi ne komprenas, vi stult'!"

But still, I keep going somehow,
Though none seem to care here and now.
For deep in my chest,
There's still some unrest,
A stubborn refusal to bow.

Perhaps one day soon it will thrive,
And Esperantists will arrive!
But till that great dawn,
I'll trudge on alone,
Just happy this damn tongue's alive.

So here's to this language so grand--
Though few even give it a hand!
I'll keep the spark bright,
And hold on real tight,
As I scream into space, "Ĉu vi komprenas, vi band'?"

A Pleaidian Cried out with dread--
"A man pulled a coin from my head!"
An Arcturian wailed,
"All logic has failed--
It's sorcery, just as I said!"

A Lyrian yelled, "What about me?
I picked out a card--can't you see?
He shuffled it through,
Yet somehow he knew!
He never once looked--it can't be!

The Pleiadean shrieked, "This I saw!
A scarf just kept leaving his jaw!
He pulled without end,
From his throat it descend--
His stomach defied Nature's law!

The Grey sniffled, "I'll never repose,
"For a man simply took my nose!"
The Lyrian GASPED,
And fearfully asked--
"IS THAT WHY YOU'VE ONLY GOT HOLES?!"

The Arcturian, pale in the face,
"A man ripped his thumb from its place!"
The Pleiadean swore,
"His hand should be sore--
Yet seamlessly left not a trace!"

A coin sat enclosed in his hand--
Then vanished at sudden command!"
The Lyrian cried,
"No place it could hide--
We searched, but it's gone! We're damned!

"I swear that a human went in!"
The Grey stammered, rubbing his chin.
"The box closed up tight,
Yet out he took flight--
No portal… No warp-field… Just HIM!"

The Lyrian growled in a huff,
"His hat gave us rabbits enough!"
The Grey gasped aloud,
"From where came that crowd?!
No top-hat is spacious enough!"


The Pleiadean held out its hands,
"A dove came from nothing and stands!"
The Arcturian choked,
"Our mission's revoked--
We're fools in these primitive lands!"

And so, through the stars spread a fear,
"These humans know magic severe!"
And so they decreed,
"We dare not proceed--
Their powers exceed ours, we fear!"

Said Space to old Time with a huff,
"I'm vast, but your clock is too rough!"
Time scoffed, "Well, my friend,
You stretch but don't end--
Without me, you're meaningless fluff!"

Said Space, "Oh, but what is your ‘when'?
Without where, you're lost once again!"
Time frowned, "That's absurd,
For I am every word--
Without me, what is now and then?"

Time grinned, "Then let's settle the score--
Can you move if I'm not at your core?"
Space sighed, "That is true,
I am still without you--
Yet you need my floor to explore."

At last, with a laugh and a bow,
They mused, "We're just one, anyhow!"
For each twist and each turn,
Through dimensions they burn--
A union both here and right now.

--But then came a voice, light yet wise,
Saying, "You're both just a clever disguise."
For distance and clocks
Are illusion-built locks--
A trick of the mind and its eyes.

Said Consciousness, "Here's the real deal--
You're projections, not something to feel!"
Time gasped, "We're not real?"
Space groaned, "What's the spiel?!"
"You're shadows of thoughts we conceal."

And suddenly, both saw the game,
That all things are one and the same.
Time chuckled, "Alright,
We'll still give them night--
But damn, what a wild little frame."

So Space and Time both took a seat,
Agreed, "Well, illusion's still neat."
Though false, they'd remain,
As a backdrop to feign--
For mortals must stand on their feet.

A traveler asked of the sky,
"What is time, and where does it lie?"
But the stars only grinned,
As the cosmos just thinned--
And whispered, "The joke's in your eye."

1.
Love whispered, "I'm tender and true,
I nurture, I bond, I renew.
I bloom and I grow,
But one thing I know--
Alone, I'm just longing in view."

2.
Said Sex, "Well, I'm passion and thrill,
A craving, a rush, and a will.
I burn and ignite,
In heat of the night,
Yet alone, I am hunger to fill."

3.
Then Trust raised its voice, calm and sure,
"I steady, I bind, I endure.
I foster belief,
I soften the grief,
Yet alone, I am fragile and pure."

4.
Then Love took the hand of dear Trust,
"Our union is sacred and just.
Yet often, it's cold,
Too patient, too old,
Without passion, we gather up dust."

5.
Then Sex twined with Love, bold and bright,
And flames leapt and danced in the night.
A rapture so sweet,
Yet fleeting and brief--
Like fire with no wood to ignite.

6.
And Trust paired with Sex, with a grin,
"You need me to keep yourself in.
Desire is grand,
But slips through your hand,
Without me, it's reckless and thin."

7.
Then Love watched them all and confessed,
"A trio--now that would be best.
For lust without care,
Or love without dare,
Leaves something still lost in the chest."

8.
So Trust took the hands of the two,
And said, "Now we know what to do.
With passion and grace,
And faith in this space,
We finally make something that's true."

9. But Love had a frown in its eyes,
And murmured, "Yet people tell lies.
If one thread should fray,
The others decay--
Our balance is fragile as ice."

10.
Then Sex gave a smirk and a sigh,
"Yes, risk makes it worth it, that's why.
For trust can be torn,
And love left forlorn,
But pleasure still sings when lips lie."

11.
Yet Trust stood its ground, firm and wide,
And said, "That is where we divide.
For love without me
Is longing set free,
And sex without me is just pride."

12.
So Love, Sex, and Trust stood as three,
And vowed, "If we stand equally,
We're fleeting, yet whole,
The flesh and the soul--
And that is what love's meant to be."

1.
The brain said, "This seems quite absurd,
To whisper some hope to the word.
No logic, no proof,
No tangible truth--
Just silence that never is heard."

2.
The heart gave a sigh in reply,
"You measure too much with the eye.
A wish, or a plea,
Is more than it seems--
It reaches beyond and on high."

3.
The brain scoffed, "Yet still, I contend,
It's speaking to air, in the end.
No man from the sky,
No force to reply,
No way to confirm or defend!"

4.
"But tell me," the heart softly pled,
"When grief leaves you hollow with dread--
When reason's besought,
And all comes to naught,
What voice echoes deep in your head?"

5.
The brain frowned and gave it a thought,
Then mumbled, "I see what you've caught.
Perhaps prayer's design,
Is less for divine--
And more for the solace it's brought."

1. The Mind (The Father / Primordial Distinction)
The Mind, steeped in logic and lore,
Declared, "I shall settle the score!"
It crafted a scheme,
A grand, perfect dream--
Yet tripped on its way to the door.

2. The Body (The Son / Integrated Experience)
The Body just wanted to move,
To feel, to indulge, and to groove.
But it ate, drank, and fell,
And it hurt like all hell--
Thus it learned how to heal and improve.

3. The Soul (The Holy Spirit / The Witness)
The Soul, like a breeze in the night,
Just hummed, "Neither wrong here nor right."
It watched as they fought,
For truths they'd forgot--
Like a sage too amused for the fight.

4. The Mind and the Body (Father and Son / Empirical-Temporal Nomos)
The Mind said, "You must take control!"
The Body rolled eyes, took a stroll.
"I must eat and breathe,
And dance when I please--
You think THINKING makes one feel whole?"

5. The Body and the Soul (Son and Spirit / Gnostic Yearning)
The Body, now weary and torn,
Asked Soul, "What's this longing I mourn?"
Soul smiled and replied,
"You're built to collide--
Each bruise is just birth in new form."

6. The Mind and the Soul (Father and Spirit / Existential Closure)
The Mind asked the Soul with a plea,
"What wisdom can you offer me?"
Soul softly replied,
"Let knowing subside--
Truth comes when you learn just to be."

7. The Mind, Body, and Soul (Divine Trinity / Kingdom Realization)
The three sat and pondered their fight,
Then laughed at their mutual plight.
The Body's the key,
The Mind is the sea,
And the Soul is the Keeper of Light.

A preacher once solemnly swore,
"We've found all the truth--nothing more!"
Yet each holy decree
Contradicted the three
That they'd written the decade before.

Ogun clears the brush with his blade,
The first of the paths ever made.
Through forests and stone,
He walks on alone,
A master of all that he's laid.

In iron and blood, he holds sway,
The worker, the warrior, the way.
From fire and steel,
He builds what is real,
And shows us the price we must pay.

He's heat in the forge when you're cold,
The fire that makes you take hold.
No shortcut, no cheat,
Just work and repeat,
Till strength turns the weak into bold.

His blessings ain't soft, they demand,
That you learn to shape with your hand.
He won't hold you tight,
He'll teach you to fight,
And stand where you thought you would land.

Ogun is the path and the blade,
The scars and the choices you've made.
He'll show you the way,
But you have to stay,
And build from the lessons he laid.

The battle ain't won overnight,
It's walking through fire till light.
It's grinding and grit,
It's break, then refit,
And knowing you'll come out alright.

He's blood in your pulse when you roam,
The voice that will guide your way home.
Not back where you've been,
But where you begin--
The place that you made on your own.

So honor the steel and the flame,
The hands that will never be tamed.
Not master, nor slave,
Not hero, nor knave,
Just power that knows its own name.