We were born in the forest,
Living in the shadows,
Clinging to our loved ones
In the dark, under the trees.
Life was good then,
We had picked fruit from branches
And swung on them for joy.
And there was no greed
Or jealousy.
Over millions of years,
We lived in harmony,
Until the forest changed;
The garden shriveled and
Faded away as we watched.
Our lives were rearranged.
Some among us ventured out.
Giving in to our sin: curiosity.
We turned the grasslands
into pavement and stone
And we endured pain to walk
Down in the street, surrounded
by canyons of concrete and steel.
The powerful gather now
and hoard what was once shared.
Hors d’oeuvres are served,
Placating the hunger of the omnipotent,
that is never stated;
They will keep taking from us
As long as we allow it.
Even as they wallow in wealth,
They plot to plunder riches
and destroy the world,
scraping the land
and scouring the sea.
But one day, some loner, a rebel
May emerge from the shadows,
Dark-clad, filled with inchoate rage.
He will find like-minded souls
Who use the new machinations
To topple the oligarchs,
Empty their accounts
And give them to the world.
Chaos may follow,
But out of it a new humanity
Might arise.

ARTICLE 1
The state consists of a legislative, an executive and a judicial power. The judicial power organizes itself and functions independently of the legislative and executive powers.

ARTICLE 2
The people who are in this country have equal rights and are treated equally in equal cases. The state does not take into account personal aspects such as beliefs, preferences and physical characteristics.

ARTICLE 3
In the event of a violation or alleged violation of article 2, the state investigates the facts and acts in such a way that they are submitted to the judiciary for assessment.

ARTICLE 4
Unequal opportunities are eliminated as much as possible by the legislator, both in current cases and preventively by organising public order in accordance with article 2.

In this garden of dreams, our hopes start to bloom,
We plan our harvest to each season’s sweet tune.
With seeds of intention, we carefully sow,
Planting seeds of compassion where love’s rivers flow.
We nurture our seedlings, watering with care,
Tending to growth with the patience we share.
Through sunny days and the gentle rain’s kiss,
We learn from each challenge, embracing the bliss.
When we say “I’m sorry,” it clears out the weeds,
Making space for new growth and meeting our needs.
Together, we toil, side by side, as we learn,
In the warmth of our love, our hearts brightly burn.
With each passing season, new wonders arise,
As we cultivate dreams beneath wide-open skies.
Now we’ve matured, this love that we have grown,
Reaping the sweet fruits of the care that we’ve sown.
In this sanctuary where true selves align,
Our dreams intertwined like a strong, sturdy vine.
Together, we’ll flourish as our garden expands,
Creating a haven where love understands.
With future horizons bright and clear,
We’ll nurture our journey year after year.
As time moves forward, hand in hand we stay,
Bound by a love that will not fade away.
Through life's final chapter, steadfast and true,
Our hearts remain one in all that we do.
In this eternal garden, forever we'll dwell,
A love everlasting; no words can dispel.

If the day ends and I no longer have the rights to myself,
Is it truly the land of the free?
Or is it only free to the straight white men that loom in offices and make laws on matters that don’t relate to them.
If I wake up tomorrow and see I can’t love who I love,
Is it really what Jesus said when he said love thy neighbor?
Or is thy neighbor only supposed to be a straight white Christian man?
A man who claims to live by a book written by other men like him,
Claiming stories of a man who loves everyone,
Of a man who said everyone must love equally
But why do these men not follow the simple rule from the book they revolve their lives around?
Is it that hard to love each other?
To love me?
A pained fifteen-year-old girl who wants to love someone and be loved,
Yet the rights of being a girl and the rights of love are ripped out of my torn and blistered hands and handed to the boy next to me who already has his own rights of living.
Is my life worth less than the next person because I might not marry a man?
That I might need to save my life by having an abortion after I’m ***** by the same men who claim they know me and my body?
At least my struggles aren’t as intense as my friends,
But is that a good thing?
No.
My rights might become limited,
But theirs might be truly gone
If the sun breaks the horizon and I lose everyone and everything I’ve ever known,
Will my home of the brave no longer be a home to those who fall into the categories of failure?
The work I’ve created, we’ve created, might be destroyed once the ticks of the tallies grow.

The world maybe bitter and dull,
to some without a meaning,
bright the eye of heaven shall shine, on a day with no complaining.

Hope does fade away sometimes,
on days that are restraining,
and blessed our lives can be,
content without refraining.

Life can be difficult sometimes
when ground you’re hardly gaining, but if you walk a righteous path
good deeds you are attaining.

Prominent you may be,
in a life you are sustaining,
but no pedigree shall save your soul, in a world where all are waning.

In time of death we shall not brag, of deeds that are beshaming, equal we are when deceased, in a world of no explaining, no mortal soul will hear your call, from the grave if you are complaining.

You are superior to 𝘸𝘩𝘰?
I am no one's inferior,
And if someone has differing conjecture;
Congratulations, I believe you!
Clearly, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 are less than 𝘮𝘦.