Life Poems.
HOW RARE WE ARE.
The sun may rise on the world a million times,
to travel its course across the day's sky,
and illuminate the beauty of our visions
with it's brilliant rays.
And it will also fall away from our eyes an equal set,
to travel over strange lands and leave us the lunar day
in it's wake.
Then it hides the sheer beauty of noon,
to reveal the mysteries of the night.
These wonderful and enticing events occur countless times
in a single lifetime.
But yet,
never seem to happen to us at all.
For how rare is the mind that views it all
with an open heart and soul.
There are as many grains of sand on the beach,
as there are stars in our night's sky,
as there are blades of grass in a meadow,
as there are flakes of snow in the gentle fall,
as there are drops of water in the sea.
These infinities exist together, in a balance we shall never understand.
How rare is the mind that views it all.
The beauty of a child's innocence,
and the power of a mother's love.
The strength of a father's courage,
and the warmth of your lover's embrace.
Take them for granted for they will always be there.
At least we hope in such.
How rare is the mind that views it all.
The eyes of man have long been closed.
The doors of their hearts shut tight and sealed,
with an unbreakable lock.
The soil of our hearts has long since hardened to shale
and nothing can grow.
Not a flower to smell and savor.
Not a tree to bear fruit and create.
Not even a lowly toadstool for which to frown upon.
And yet.
How rare is the mind that views it all.
So long have we been blind, that we no longer realize it.
So long have we lived in our own dark hovels,
locked inside, deep inside the world of ourselves,
that we no longer remember the world outside our shells,
or why we chose to lock against it in the first place.
Should our doors be thrown open to let the air and light in.
And should we be dragged,
screaming and biting,
into the truth and light of the day,
will we not think we have entered the gates of Hell itself?
Still.
How rare is the mind that views it all.
If the power of man's fire ever rained on us all,
would it not be a blessing for us?
To be free of our prisons of earthen walls
and walk the scorched earth in a state of unfeeling spirituality.
It makes the soul quiver with fear, to think
that might be our only vent,
our only escape,
our salvation.
Pity.
How rare is the mind that views it all.
And if we do ever happen to reach the gates of joy,
who is to say
we shan't bring our evil with us,
to destroy the beauty of that which is beyond even us?
If man is indeed made in God's own image,
there is no wonder he has mercy on us.
But will he forgive us when he sees
what we have turned that image into?
For neither heaven nor hell
can withstand the power
of rationalization.
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