Poetry

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How terrible it would if I couldn't hear,

the sounds of the earth and its bounty

the welcome wonderful children's voices in their laughter, free, clear!

Ringing out , catching, capturing the attention, in spite of the clamor of

superficial machines man has made.

Their beauty, the sincerity, the realness,

the joy of youth, in its pure innocence without the show of chrades.

How can we arrogantly march off past and leave, forsake this pure form of living:

and purposely, calculatingly manufacture for ourselves, superfeciality? Veneers

of pompuosity, shallow as the shadow

of sincerity; the end to be distress of mind, depression of heart, as a dirge to

earnestness the pretense of affection and care, to drain all of faculty's

resources; an empty shell its fruits, burned out wilderness its environment.

Nothing really gives; the gain??? Strive for good, sacrifice for sincerity of

purpose; live for real moral, ethical spiritual love and physical love will be in

that form of work.
by
www.lancessoulsearching.com

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