The day needs air,sun,rain
And wind, a few of the natural tools to its survival.
We, the people, fight our way under
The weight of pain,grief, misfortunes
Makes the sadness that stains our gladness.
Then there's this monster pumping
Away from a tube in a corner, murderous
Colored images the very stuff that has
Stuffed our language.Men/woman/children
Have lost a 'built-in' image supposedly given us
By something more higher, a more beautiful
Self we seldom see, without which, it is written,
We are put primitve, mindless animals
Adrift on a sea of uncertainty.Evil is not in the designer
Of you and me-if a designer there be-evil resides
In the hearts and minds of men, not some invisible
Run- around over two-thousand years old!
Their something awesome,undefinable, above and
Beyond the minds of men/women, far too grand
Too big, immeasurable, to fit in a poem.The closest
I beieve, any of us mortals can get to it/she/him?
IS TO LISTEN TO YOUR HEART-BEAT BEFORE YOU GO TO SLEEP...
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