Cinnamon Tree


Mankind has been melding for a long long time, peeling back lies, kinship denied, all colors truly sublime to me.
How can the many deny what they see; when they look at the cinnamon tree of we? Of course there is no such cinnamon tree, but man is like cinnamon himself; the blending of many trees on one shelf. Abrade back those layers, and you will find, your skin tone, and that of mine. Chocolate complexion, and honey dip hues, white ginger snaps there for you. So many choices, so much to see; no sense to hate on such skin deep things, for there is no advantage with you,
or me.
When you lay down and die, your people cry; just, like, mine. Cream colored lies fuel the fire, unfulfilled lives in death’s attire. One earth, one life, one hope to live, just try living it without such preconceived shit.
For we are here today, and gone tomorrow, there is no one that is exempt. Back to the dust do we fade no time for regret.
Be it the ground we lay,
or the ocean stay,
or up in the mountains far and away;
in the end the question still remains:

If a man dies, can he live again?

Time traveled, memories, pain,
time changes everything.



[Picture from Pinterest]

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