YOU ONLY HAVE 99 CENTS (YOH99Cs)

                                       

We fared through hardships of the day

Soiled our feet and pricked our hands

Wrote on history with silver pens

Ate greedily with glass plates

And still the master gives you a the servants wage

You return saying, I only have 99 cents.

Out of the abundance of man’s rejection

We were fed to loneliness in sadness of nothing

Love abounds but wrought in our fields because we are lepers

Like 10 of us came to the hands that gave us health

And we do not return to gratitude because we only have 99 cents

Our fields are pastured with verdant food

Closure on the world is not a word

We eat to gluttony like 100 sheep, satisfaction perseveres

And then the look of fear steals the master’s tears

For the grazers are just but one short of lost

And there’s jealousy because they believe you already have 99 cents

I gave you light, peace and heaven

Gave my life, breath more than safe haven

The dominion of the world in its glorious scorn

Torches of redemption, packaged salvation

And when I speak in question Welldone,

You tell me you only have 99 cents?

The architect consoles are engine by thanksgiving

Approval not of desire, a heart he calls forth jolly

Refill or not, grace is a gas station that does not dry

Even when a pilgrim’s journey is the same quest of old

Solitude is afar told, from glowing robes to halos of gold

Gifts of mankind, architecture and art you say

A demi-god I make of you, trust is not a burden

An angelic feel with a fierce fiend cold sorrowful look

If you weigh more than the scale, and conceived in good

It means you are not far from an applause

Perfection’s nights is the architect’s might

And happily lands are beyond this blues

This is a story from war lords beyond comprehension

A dicey game, friend to ugly sights

Beautiful minds and skeptical lips

Words of mine so earthly with heaven in it

Parables that sows but this stories reap

Clarion calls, but the faithful don’t weep

Lips withhold names, fingers do not know point

Stains wash off, and dirt cut off

And descendants of peace offer you war

Then your right hand contains what is left not to see

When the journey is off and we call it complete

And work is no more left to do

In power saving mode, the sleep of long

We return to the banks owned by master

Will you offer a handshake, smile and a familiar kiss?

And say I only have 99 cents?                     

Because he gave more than a hundred coins.