If you focus on the patriarchs
you forget about the brotherhood,
the good in men that waits to bend
for chaos or good day.
The love is always present,
wounded to no end,
this vibe we’ve got
is naught but rot,
The Man is no friend.
We’d like to blame them all,
me myself included,
but absolutes
cause no grace,
they only bring seclusion.
If we are to
bridge the gaps
fingers we cannot point,
we must raise up
and cheer good men,
with no kings to anoint.