The Builder (Voat)

submitted ago by PuttItOut

This is a good time to share this poem with everyone:

I saw them tearing a building down. A team of men in my hometown. With a heave and a ho and a yes yes yell, they swung a beam and a sidewall fell.

And I said to the foreman, "Are these men skilled?" "Like the ones you'd use if you had to build?"

And he laughed and said, "Oh no, indeed... the most common labor is all I need... for I can destroy in a day or two what takes a builder ten years to do."

So I thought to myself as I went on my way...

Which one of these roles am I willing to play?

Am I one who is tearing down as I carelessly make my way around? Or am I one who builds with care, in order to make the world a little better... because I was there?

anon

No one likes seeing their country destroyed. No one likes seeing their culture destroyed. No one likes seeing that which they've worked for destroyed.

This principle also applies to Voat.

Each of us is either a builder or a destroyer.

Choose your side, because I've chosen mine. Voat will support those who build.

Interpret this post however you'd like, because at it's root it is truth, but I'm posting this for those of us that need a reminder from time to time.

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Tallest_Skil ago 

It was whispered on the breeze as I took my first breath,
Mixed in the milk of my mother's own breast,
Buried in its stones upon which I cut my first tooth,
In the laughter of friends in the flower of youth,
On streets it rose like summer heat from the cracks,
In the eyes of my elders and in the bow of their backs.
 
Though I've seen it not, the feeling is still there:
The lingering warmth of a body.
The fading echo of a voice.
The embers burn low and leave but one choice.
 
America! America! Where have you gone?
Whose shadow I've seen,
Whose name heard in song?
They have driven their daggers deep in your breast
And stolen your life and then kept you from rest!
 
Know this then, hear well this oath,
For if you live slain, a colossus thrown down,
A war-cry to heaven from our hearts shall then sound!
Your children thus robbed of a mother's sweet touch,
Shall savage and rage against their civilized crutch!
And no place to hide, shall thy murderers know,
But the graves where we lay them…
Six feet below.

Smallest_Skil ago

The thing is that like the first part of the poem @tallest_Skil is still sucking on his moms tit. He likes his binky and his bitty. He makes big boy poops in the potty now, gets excited if they look like a Q.