I write as one whose truth is borne
on every breath as i exhale;
as one who stokes his righteous scorn
for creatures who'd impose their lies
upon the rest of us, and fail
to know compassion, or be wise

enough to understand its place
as primal in the furtherance,
and future, of the human race.
I write as one whose wish is that
we'd work as one when circumstance
arose, in unison, no matter what

the outcome proved for each and each
alone; i write as one who'd think
eternal growth were out of reach,
should growth mean greed mean capital;
as one whose heart and hope both sink,
the more we try to grab it all,

to make of nature and its stores
an arid, barren charnel house;
as one who wants to even scores
and see more justice in the world
for everyone who shows good cause;
I write as one, black flag unfurled,

whose central cause is anarchy,
though not the tabloid kind most fear -
the lie that sets you against me
in a war of all against all,
with chaos and death ever near -
but that which sees us walking tall,

shoulder to shoulder, united
in peace and proud of each other,
in nature's rhythms requited.
And though our cause seems disparate,
though we fear and hate our brother
and drive our sisters desperate -

for suffrage, safety and respect -
we have it in us to be more,
much more, and further, to expect
progress, but through prosperity:
we have it in us to explore,
and enrich our posterity;

and we need do but go, i swear,
(though the route seem unpassable
so, and the sights ugly to bear)
to that deep place, past ocean shelves
within us, where it's possible
we may yet learn to know ourselves.