Dirt caked on a tiny hand, left the stain on my back pocket. A stain to some, a banner to others.
Questioning not the motive or means, that left the print upon my jeans. For in this life, we are all brothers.
Brothers of man,
brothers of beast,
sisters of land,
To say the least.
How silly of a thought, I think, to stifle hungry hands. "You've stole the stuff, that I once stole, this sin just shall not stand."
So venture forth, I wish you well, on your merry feast.
May fortune find you some day soon.
- A brother of the beast