Spring Blossoms, Flowers Bloom
It's the start of season's beginnings,
And the end of winter dooms.

The beginnings of life
Terminations of death.
The birth of many loves
As well as its demises
The peace is subsiding
And war is dawning.

For in the fields of nature
Every blade of grass,
Every flower pedal,
Counts for every minuscule effect
That nature has on our mind's eye.
But every ray of light
And all the drops of rain
Mark the rise and fall of life
And the journeys within.

There is a voice that speaks to me.
A voice that is not afraid.
A voice who speaks only truth.
Which pledges utmost loyalty

But this voice refuses to speak
With an absence of peace.
Yet the presence of evil.
And it makes the human soul weak.

When this voice speaks so clever
It guides me through life and love
Tells me not to be afraid.
For this guide shall never sever.

If only I could be awake
To see myself sleep.
In this frozen frame of time
Counting the sheep

A heart is only so strong
To care for all
The mind one day sleeps
And next will fall.

No matter how black or blue
No matter how brown or green
Between creation and destruction
Our heart is an open door
With arms wide open
Always welcoming you,
To our hospitality.

I'm ashamed of this game
Every time it plays out the same.
No pity, no sympathy
For my cries.

Yet I always learn for that
I do love most.

Father, on my knees I pray
The strongest and deepest ever.
A cry to you, the tears roll
From my shut eyelids and fall
Unto my repose.

A student of Darwinism,
I fall to the floor
Hoping, praying to God
Obliviating all surroundings,
Obsessively calling to
"Please give me Grace."

I arise alone,
Having less time than yesterday.
Suppressing the urge to idle
I forsake my repose.

I unbolt the drawer
And make a selection.
Preparation in silence for the day
Sustaining my hunger to last the day.

I set out from the door
To burn my legs upon nature;
No hand recognizes my presence,
For the wind stands still.

Stopping but journeying through life
An unrivaled struggle resides ahead.
Then I am challenged here,
And stoically fight through fatigue.

I alternate my room
To practice what I preach
And labor obsessively to breed a seed.
A hand sails past my window at twilight.

Then confidence finds me
And guides me to orate the answers.
For I know these matters,
Presiding at the peak of the caste.

The roots of my seed dig elsewhere.
I glide into the brisk wind
Hearing trillions of hands applaud me
As I amble home again.