John Roberts
Are these all just illusions meant to fill an empty space,
A void we try to fill,find something to replace. Everything we stand for,even who we are, How is it that we judge a man From the price tag of his car? Coins,gold and jewelry, Trophies in your case. All part of illusions, Meant to divide by greater space, The deeper the illusion The faster is the pace That you'll sooner leave behind The rest of human race. If the leaders of illusions Looked down upon a tree And said the leaves of these branches Now mean more than thee Men would kill with anger While children run and hide Just to get a branch Never knowing that they lied. By John Roberts.