a toy’s story (a poem by Jack)

Spare the rod, spoil the child 

I watched the news, and it told me that a man shot into a car full of young men because he was stricken by fear..

Their music was too loud…

Trust me, I know the sentiment.. And believe you me, if you knew what your DNA knew.. You had every right to do so..The music was just too loud.. Too truthful..

There’s power in them drums you know.. Let your subconscious tell it.. Thems be the war drums of antiquity.. Those same drums you would hear up to two days away, and know for certain that your desolation was inevitable.. Know your slaughter was imminent.. You’d know you’ve transgressed past the point of forgiveness.. These weren’t just war drums but the drums that nightmares were made of…
Universally known..

Zulus… Among others…

These drums killed your fathers, brothers and uncles.. And spared the child.. The battle of Jericho and those walls came tumbling down.. 

And the spared child carried that truth with him forever..

So if I were you.. I’d hate that music too.. My heart would pound a little faster when I heard all that bass and them 808’s… I grow increasing nervous as well.. I’d not only panic but be quick to action..

Everything is everything.. Spared child..
And time never changes the truth…

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