The time has come when I should join the movement. Thinking though my get up and go must have got up and went. Yet where? If I should care. Can this movement be?
If not standing beneath the gallows of a hangmans’ tree. Or as clouds high, born of tempest storming aloft the sea. I am here thinking. That it is a long road to instincting. If I have got to make this movement a part of me.
Warding off strife. Throughout my life. To live, love, and take a wife. With what else being rife. I want it shone. The way these thoughts into dreams are grown. Till our memories are honed. That each of us stands. With open hands. A member in the heart of gold band.
This movement, is it a tribe? Jah people, a revolutionary jibe. At the resting, souls of our earthly harmony. Telling what’s up. To each of us. You and me.
Change comes and we are on our own. Again protecting hearts from loath at what’s still ode. We’ve got to rise up singing. Having been brought low.
Personal Writings 