Wild Goose Chase/ Why Loose Change?

It is above the fire yet does not melt.
It is on display and is still glimmering.
It is a sculpture of a majestic house,
All is crystallized.


Barely shipping at its corners.
It produces expensive, necessary matters.
It becomes victim of looters.
Barely taking off with anything.


They came, they saw but didn't see.
They came, they sown but didn't reap.
They came bare and left bare, yet carrying.
They thought they didn't care, yet they did.


Hands went in the fire of the breast.
Hands turned the ashes over and over.
Hands found the purple bill folded.
Hands stole the long dusty grey book.


The thief run loose, bewildered, scared.
She looks at the book and doesn't understand it.
She is breaking it apart and shares the parts.
She panicks at the angry mob, she runs away .


She can not go far for all is flooded.
She can not get away for she is tagged.
She can not escape for she is surrounded.
She has two options, living or dying.


In the walled street, the water has swallowed the fire.
The people are swimming to safety.
The worker upon the crane is lifting the ground.
There is great anger, great fear, yet great hope.


The worker sends me to talk to the thief.
I go to her and offer terms.
I spoke of the bridge being raised with invisible foundations.
I show her the future of either choices.


She cries tears of incomprehension.
She wants to throw herself in the water and drown.
She doesn't believe in better days, help and love.
She hates all with a passion and growl.


I look back at the worker, sorrow in my eyes,
I report what was said and done.
He sent me back to her, with the Words,
Don't let her teach you despair, give her your hand, give her the World.


I see my thief drowning.
I fight and raise her head above the water.
First she rages then she becomes calm.
My shoulders receives her surrendering tears.


She finally opens up her heart, her fears, her loss.
She finally gives me the broken book and all its pieces.
She finally hold my hands and follows me back.
I present to her the worker upon the crane.


He welcomes us and explains his wondrous work.
She becomes appeased and explains her deeds.
She said that she could not find anything, with desperation no money,
She only found the bill and the book of ashes.


He smiles knowingly and replied there was actually plenty of everything,
That money was not involved in any foundations of his house.
That the purple bill should be open and not folded.
That her hands had salvaged the book from the fire.


But he put his hand upon her breast and told,
Tearing the book apart put the fire within your heart,
Burning it badly to near oblivion,
Throwing a blinding smoke screen upon your eyes.


He continued loosing his smile,
You brought hatred upon your heart,
You spread hate by heart,
You preached your ignorance as knowledge.


Did you understand the book you broke? No.
Did you gave it as yours? Yes.
Did your hands stole what wasn't yours? Yes.
Did you inundate your heart, your falsified world with your tears?


The thief sank on her knees and wept.
I knelt by her and handed over the torn book, and the gathered thousand pieces.
I pleaded that she gave herself up.
The worker fixed the volume to its original form.


The soothsayer has pleaded.
We have work to do.
To be on your way, free, we have a task for you.
The birth book is to be burnt, to dry the wars, to extinguish the prejudices, to warm all hearts.


The volume of the task burns the hands of the thief.
She hands it to me once more with feelings.
The volume burns my heart of love.
I fear to let burn to ashes the Ws.


The worker seized my sweating palms and asked,
Can you do it for her?
I give the sweetest smile and try to sway,
Can I keep the Ws within my heart?


The volume opened itself within my hands,
Its winged words flying out of the old pages,
Gathered in my lips, penetrating my body,
I swallowed them in an embrased breath.



My breasts opened themselves like a chest,
Revealing a burning heart in flames,
The beating organ flying out of my dead body,
Reached the stroking striking worker's palms.



Kissed, consumed, swallowed,
Beating, bleeding, burning,
My heart disappears within his mouth,
Eaten away for eternity.


The buzzing bee is back home,
Her work is done, accomplished,
The golden honey trickles from the beehive,
Her sweet soothing sing song is spreading.



The worker builds the bridge beholding all beings.
The crane carries the cabled community above the cavities.
The worthless wordless woman is welcomed back to the world.
The Soothsayer's song is sang as a salute.


Without fuel the wars dry out,
Without fake laws the prejudices fade away,
With light the path is understanding,
With love as law, the purple bill is put to rights.


The worker leaves, flying away, far away,
The worker leaves another world of words,
The world is built with all in mind, past, present and future.
The word is to use our own building tools our hearts.


The bill of rights is defolded, open and progressing.
The bill for hate is fire consumption.
The bill for love is a sea of evolution.
The bill for abusing any hearts is sorrow.


It is above the water and flows.
It is hidden yet brightly glows.
It is the culture of loving living hearts.
All is crystal clearly moving deeply.


Barely chipping at its curves,
It produces free necessary matters.
It becomes home of lovers.
Bearing all, lifting off with everything.


Call them Wings of Change.
Call them Wings.
Call them.
Call.


All.
A+L+L
All winged.
All flying.
All loving.
Lift off.
O+F+F.


Fin.
FinE.
High five.
We made IT.

The worker,
The B,
The Worder.