She praised herself as goddess of beauty,
Her charming smile and seducing beauty,
To her is a weapon unimaginable,
Like the beautiful morning sun,
All her dreams was to be admired and praised by all,
By day or by night,
She sees herself the brightest,
Oh, if only she knew that all things fades away,
Like stars of the morning,
Her greatest achievement wouldn't ever be charmed beauty.

Though the lilies are so beautiful,
They appear so pleasing to the eyes,
How long can they bloom?
Beauty is like the season's,
One comes, and the other disappears,
Today, the wrinkles has come to stay,
That shining skin that pleases,
And sparkles shining tunes,
Congregating lustful men in her *****,
Shrinks away like the dry leaves of the tree,
Never more to be cherished and admired anymore.

Her moment of joy now appears her saddest moment,
And her beauty became a source,
Wherein grieve is born,
Her time has come and gone,
Like the summer times,
And the winter times,
The spring times and the the autumn,
None can last for ever,
Her charming smile appears to her,
Miseries of that old woman living alone,
Looking at her old mirror,
She sees nothing but her empty gums.

That shining teeth, all falling apart,
Like the child, changing teeth,
Oh, beauty,
How deceitful thou art,
A distraction to many,
And a source wherein pride originated,
She has been deceived,
She has faded,
Her time has come and gone,
Today she could say,
With tears, sorrow and deep regret,
Nothing appears same forever,
Everything comes and goes,
Never pierce yourself,
Never be deceived.

Life is but an empty dream,
Who could catch the air,
I can tell deep down from my heart,
All things are not what they seem,
For the one that slumbers is dead already.

Today is a different day,
Like the stage prepared for dancers,
Each one with a dancing step,
Shows what dance they can dance,
So, we live in a stage,
Strange as it may appear,
Everyone is an actor,
The good, the bad, and the ugly.

Many chasing shadows,
In the world’s broad field of battle,
Who retreats early,
From a dance displayed in arrogance of demeanor,
Same is counted as wise,
He trod under feet the deadliest;
Of all things ever known to man,
The old source of fall,
From classical antiquity, pride.

Tell me not in mournful tune,
I have been numbered,
I have been counted,
Should I tread on that old strange path,
I could in retreat,
Retrace my wayward path,
For long, before we were conceived,
A path clear and pure was given,
For a guide in an open arena,
Of various actors.

Life is an empty dream,
But the future ahead is pure,
We could all walk on that street of gold,
Clear as crystal, with never ending joy,
A reality that could be followed,
Only with these three things shown to us,
Simple is what is required,
To do justly,
To love mercy,
And to walk humbly.

Lo, the sun fades,
The moon gives her light,
Behold kings are born,
Surely Kings dies too,
Death is the common right-
Of beast and men,
Of the rich and the poor,
The privilege of us all.

Who can tell from where comes the wind?
Life is indeed a vapour,
Fading away like stars of the morning,
Shall one live as though the earth is his?
Even the mighty men of the earth are bid farewell,
Shall they be awakened from their sleep,
Many will walk only in the part of righteousness,
Never to swagger in a shallow mindedness,
But with a better view of a world beyond,
Where joys eternal reign;
And pleasures banish pain.

Could we but climb the top mountains,
Stood and view the landscape,
Of the land fairer than day,
Not with this world's pretended good,
None could ever be charmed any more,
With earthly pleasures and care,
The later appears better than the now.

Shall all men see this light,
View in a plain eyes clearly,
With no wanton lips nor envious eye,
The giant's supremacy sort for,
Surely shall be bid farewell,
In welcome of a beautifu land,
There everlasting spring abides,
And never withering flowers;
With eternal joy, bidding the formal,
Farewell! a long farewell,
To all their greatness;
To all their pride,
To all their greed,
To all their oppressions,
And to all their selfish ambitions.

The picture is clear,
The message is simple,
The dark ancient pathway,
That tells of many years of hate.

The man, the man,
Bounded by chain of pains,
Miseries and cruelty,
Left in the dark,
With no one to call his own.

Even in the night of frost,
And the hot heat of the day,
With burning anguish,
And rejection of who he is not,
Amid the unspeakable circumstances,
Indeed, I see a man,
Strong and focused.

With or without legs,
With sadness deep down his soul,
Only the Maker can understand,
In him lies his hope and success,
And deep down his heart,
A shout is issued,
Freedom is all he knows.

Like a growing child,
His heart is filled with sweet tomorrows,
Never mindful of what trouble might be,
Many could pierce themselves,
With troubles yet unknown,
He asked, deep down from his heart,
Can a mother forget her suckling child?
In his wisdom, he answered and said
Yes they can,
Sad as it may appear,
Even in a night of frost,
Comes the discernment,
Failure lies in the ***** of the fool,
The morrow is bright,
By day or by night,
In his own pathway,
Plants he the most beautiful flowers,
A garden that speaks of the future unseen,
Though living in the world of men,
Encircled by uncaring people,
Nature could speak of their cruelty too,
Upon the matter, so heavy and so tough,
Still in his heart,
Enshrined his love for mankind,
Many a blessings never ceased from his lips,
Upon every step, proceeded the most beautiful words,
He wish all could find the long awaited golden day,
With each one, little or no troubles,
With fortunes ten times more,
With sunlight shining across a thousand hills,
And bluebirds in every single tree,
With thousand blossoming flowers,
In their kinds giving the sweetest fragrance ever known to man,
With little or no worries,
And loneliness and depression,
All fading oblivion,
In every heart, the most beautiful song written,
With a single purpose of mind,
A world free of hate and wars,
At a glance, comes in the ugly picture of the day,
But he still could press on with eager step,
And that word resounding over and over again,
Failure lies in the ***** of the fool,
Though one can't win forever,
A truth undeniable,
Again, you can't be a loser forever,
For sure, the path is bright,
And the morrow is beautiful,
Upon this note,
He could rest his case,
And the weapons of hate,
All banished.
C.2019 Moses Michael N.