The song within us lingers sweeter
Than any wine the vineyards yield;
The fields may bloom in living color,
Yet pales to ink our souls have sealed.
For beauty dwelling in the world
May move the heart to sow;
Yet fire smolders in the soul,
Stoked softly as we grow.
How common, yet how cruel,
Is Nature’s scornful wrath:
She leads all flesh to ruin still,
None left may flee her path.
For humankind is architect,
Within us burns a spark.
A light that bears it’s radiance,
Yet kindles in the dark.
Oh, the world we sought to sow,
How scant the harvest reaped;
The flames we stoked to slowly grow
Have swallowed up the creek.
And when the fire has quenched its thirst,
The cruelty spent and done—
Shadows fall, and victors fade
Wars fought, and who has won?
Is it the truth, resounding still,
That beauty walks with pain?
And if we lay our bare wrists open,
Shall it flow as blood from the vein?
In this ash, there is a teacher,
A lesson never truly learnt,
“He* who tempteth fire,
Shall himself be burnt”.