I write,
to master the art,
of language.
To be,
so effortless,
within my exchanges,
entities may deem me ancient.
May,
deem me,
dangerous.
Such,
is expected.
When,
one is loose,
with a golden tongue.
When,
sounds of Prometheus,
is constantly conjured,
up.
When,
one's forever eyes,
are open,
and the wholeness of time,
is known.
Such,
becomes,
a powerful soul.
Power.
Be it tethered,
to human endeavors.
Be it,
only tethered to those,
which seek it.
For,
in truth,
be there no power,
within a dollar.
No,
power tethered to,
external realities.
Be there,
only power,
within one's,
humanity.
This,
which you,
shall forever be.
For,
everything external,
died,
yesterday...
©yungb123
Y