Philanthropy in Balance

To resist an opportunity in the midst of our days by the sunlight catching the inner core, it holds weakens the penetration of the mind, the many splitting of the selves, the gold no one can take shining, preserved underground in the industrial concavity of emptiness a promising clench or premeditated fists of strength When we have no one, want no one to be our angels and help us, when gravity weighs too heavy upon our shoulders, we travel in darkness with invisible hands, scavenging for nourishment in our great desert, we see nothing but the dust circling and clouding our vision– you, you, you, you, you and the I, myself and only the ignorance or neglect we force upon ourselves, the belief no one understands our condition, only the result, the feeling of a profiting party of phony collectors who carry hope and accomplishment in their pockets, each piece by piece a new cause for a new penny and no change There is optimism in the light upon those who practice the beauty of philanthropy who understand passion, in the heat of madness, who wait and listen and care– they are not proclaimed gods, everlasting prophecies, they are projections of our most clearest, healthy selves ones we used to be, might have been, lost amongst our prehistoric, archetypal cages against a subtly we pass by with a bitterness until we discover an identity we must define for ourselves and cure our feeble, outlandish bodies that stick out no more, that shine as we perform our greatness.