The Promised Land always lies on the other side of a wilderness.
Before finishing eading your story about Stand LA, I wrote this poem.
If Stand LA wants it, it is theirs. It’s a gift.
They Don’t Care
They don’t care
The lungs breath free
The smiles are without fear
Without doubt
Streams run clear on the skin
Fingers dip in for a taste
Clear, cold and sweet
Bodies immerse
Without crust from the mines
From the filth of farms
Eyes see without pain
The moon without a black ring
The tree leaves without death
The mind and heart are saved
The blood runs happy
Life has helping hands
Before finishing eading your story about Stand LA, I wrote this poem.
If Stand LA wants it, it is theirs. It’s a gift.
They Don’t Care
They don’t care
The lungs breath free
The smiles are without fear
Without doubt
They don’t care
Streams run clear on the skin
Fingers dip in for a taste
Clear, cold and sweet
They don’t care
Bodies immerse
Without crust from the mines
From the filth of farms
They don’t care
Eyes see without pain
The moon without a black ring
The tree leaves without death
They don’t care
The mind and heart are saved
The blood runs happy
Life has helping hands