Notes of music fill the air.
Always playing are songs of Love.
But noise and attack hammers our soul
and nought else can be heard.
Peace paints the skies blue.
Joy covers the earth with fields of flowers.
But weeds of bitterness, anger and condemnation
are the garden from which we feast.
Blessing, honor and respect carpet the day.
Gates and doors are opened with Invisible Power.
But as night falls our dreams are filled
with fear, anxiety and desperation.
To give richly and abundantly we have the option.
To heal and to love we have as choices.
But to take stingily and selfishly,
protecting ourselves and damaging others is our foremost motive.
So much more is there to life.
So much more is there to living.
But each day we are killing ourselves
so that we may proudly die as pitiful and crippled bums.