We are the Outlaws

Do we want nothing other than to succeed?

More than love,
More than thought,
More, even so, than our precious grip on reality,
Do we all want the same things,
In essence;

To live well,
Gather, Mate, Make our Mark, and Die?

Is that all we are good for?
To contort to the crushed wills of our fathers?

They did create us after all,
did they not?


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We are the Outlaws,
The Tricksters,
The Lovers,
Those of us
Who so choose
To live with our senses;
Those who can still taste the Moon.

We are the children, luminescent, eternal,
And born
Out of the Dirt and the Sky.

We know of the whispers of starlight,
Better than any the lessons of Man,
We know how to wait, how to breathe, how to think,
And the consequences of breaking a heart.

You can follow our footsteps,
Deep grooves in the Earth,
But can never go where we go;
We touch lightly the air, to the ends of the Earth,
Tread it lofty and afterglow bright;
We go forth,
Graze the Earth with our feet stained nude,
We touch noses together to say, "Here I am!"

We know of the Way;
For to succeed is much more
Than to create a succession;

It is to live every moment in peace.