Solomon asked for wisdom, sorrow follows enlightenment
for the value of all that is, is naught.
Season to season, child to man, dawn to dusk, sea to land.
He understood it was a waking dream, where men build castles made of sand, and women webbed tales of romance controlled by flesh, undiscovered by love and children grew into death.
The burden of knowledge was more than we could bare and in being spared we became bitter for the desire to comprehend.
Love.
They say is the greatest of all gifts, the spark that begins the fire to all power. Yet power is molested by greed and love perverted to lust, and we cheat ourselves distorting purity into  fictitious tales for children, who laugh and carry guns in their pants never experiencing tenderness, losing all respect for the heart that drums beneath the surface of every man. 
I'm grieved to see the price placed on the hippest trend, people die for change, change that cannot buy the remedy to mend, to repair the damage done to a son who grew into a man with no concept of mercy.
Can you forgive me?
In being filtered through this examination, I too have become contaminated, my vaccination is below my knees where I bow my crown to honor a king who dwells within forgiveness for those who seek redemption from the things that we have seen. As well as those who see us, always watching, always waiting to taunt us into an empty dream.
I've seen spirits crawl the Earth, bodies contorted in the mockery of the essence of freedom, and they dance misshapen, laughing promising entrance into an empty throne and treasures full of purchased souls.
I see them in the silent cars, cell phones, bar codes, numbering all one by one it's just another credit card, slap a digit on your ass when you exit the womb, we need your social security card to complete the form.
Keep you filed with the flock, those ignorant sheep, standing in lines, baying out cries, metallic clash of a butchers knife echoes behind human eyes.
Wisdom.
Who really wants to know?
Our blood is our life, by blood we are baptized, into immortality, able to be set free.
Blood dripping off the feet of a body hanging from driven nails, who begged for our forgiveness when his torture had commenced, yet he was innocent.
I cannot agree with what will transpire, nor will I be the docile beast led to the slaughter, but to blood that falls from rusted nails, so shall I in time, sacrifice the secret that unlocks the doors that bar our minds.
Where awareness has no sorrow.
                                                                     Star Newton