The World Answers

Cheap offerings

Granting scorn

Silence

You’ve not given enough

And when you asked

You were told

Not enough

Not in the spirit of scorn

But the cost of your path

Is not the same as its price

Bruises fade

Scars retreat like sunsets

And it is when you set your shoulder

To the wheel

Hard

Long

That the faintest rumble

A kiss from the distance

Continue because

The future is rapacious

And as you prune the

Vicious thorns of chaos

Their poison leaves you

Illusions pack a hasty bag and flee

There is the world,

And the richness of your offering

Determines what manner of world

Comes to answer

You

And it will only be you

Who

Hears

It