empty walnut shells hold
all global truth, whether
real or imagined...
seen or unseen...
practiced or not practiced...
as if life hold the keys
to where it was before;
before all the nations
traded honor for power,
decadence for humanity
freedom for imprisonment,
we founded a new world
far enough from the old
to be special and precious,
alas... it was not... and
life rotten away on
the god's vines,
souring the grapes
until all that we once knew
was contained in the
shell of a walnut,
cast down to us by our
fearless ancestors who
knew not what they had done
nor the doors they opened
nor the minds changed
because interpretation was
left for the masses to decide,
giving up that which gave
them that right the day
before it all went away
and all that was left
buried by squirrels their
favorite walnut tree.
December
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