Idels

All the little things we worship.

Little idles lie about.

In all the past and future bracing doubt. 

Steeped in hope, memory and futures long past .

Idles idolatrous idle Ideals, sunk under I pray we may  not drowned 

Pieces of iron left to last

Rusted away,

till it lay,

like shattered glass,

within boundless grass. 

In in-trepidation or elation of our minds might we reel,  

burden bumbling

burdens feel

burden laden stumbling

burden found

burden brazen 

burdens bitting sound

burden graven

burden bitten

hear the weight of them pushing down upon the ground

burden stricken

burden abundant

all these little idles all around 

We have been living burden bound.

memories and glories hope stealing time future past stealing reaching evermore into our now…

Fortunes Face, Gold Renowned and Ground. 

Sorrow for the meek mind of humanity.

That we should seek so clearly,

validation in the invalid. 

Were the flesh not so week could it seek to astound?

Relinquish our physical fears and feel confident with out the solidity of the finite physical?

Could we set fourth with a legacy of tried and true ideals?

Unencumbered by brands, lands and all other things pagans attribute to the grand?

What if wealth was measured by society in love, and open home?

Maybe it always has been, and we haven't been using the words right.