We water it daily when we discriminate,
The permeating foliage of hate.
And It continued to grow,
Always feeding off the dying lovers’ sorrow
We cultivated the land beneath its roots,
With a dichotomy of false hue,
We made way for the dark shoots
Ignorantly and blindly with not an ounce of a clue
The foliage destroyed the shrubbery of love
And It razed the home of the peaceful dove
It began to reach out of sight,
High up above, and the hatred took flight
And day insidiously became night
It blotted out the once blue sky
The light struggled to shine through,
And the hope of a new garden had already begun to die
With ill intentions, we tried to trim it
With a dogmatic shear,
We said, “Join us, not them, lest the foliage consume you and all you hold dear”
Still, higher it climbed -
Heavenward near.
Snatching away everything that we hold dear,
And still we fed it with a callous fear
Until it became too late
And upon the dying land, lay our fate.
In darkness we did grieve,
Blaming each other
For that hopeful day,
We blindly threw asunder,
And now all bereave
We belatedly now see our blunder,
The love we forgot, the united we did plunder,
And the compassion that we pushed deep under.
If once together we had came,
Armed with a singular burning loving flame,
And Burnt away the Hate.
We shalt have woven in time -
The foliage’s deserved fate.
And If United we had tended -
The garden of compassion,
We shalt have the foliage its fate rendered.
Love would then be a reality and not something to be remembered.
But we sharpened our shears with Hatred,
And not Compassion, Tolerance and Love
And nowhere in sight,
Could we still see the remnants of the peaceful Dove.
And in darkness our hearts grow colder
And compassion was no longer to be found
He hath aeons back retreated over the yonder
And forevermore we shall look back in darkness,
And see, that with shears laced in love – the foliage would be a carcass
A winter shrub in all its starkness,
A **** that was easily plucked,
But it is too late, the land is dry and from it all loving humanity was ******
The desolate, deep foliage encumbered forest
Bereft of care, not a shimmer of hope left amongst it
The last root of the rose is gone,
Hatred has taken over,
And it has finally won
And the last seed of solicitudes days are finally done.
Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 9:33 AM UTC
We water it daily when we discriminate,
The permeating foliage of hate.
And It continued to grow,
Always feeding off the dying lovers’ sorrow
We cultivated the land beneath its roots,
With a dichotomy of false hue,
We made way for the dark shoots
Ignorantly and blindly with not an ounce of a clue
The foliage destroyed the shrubbery of love
And It razed the home of the peaceful dove
It began to reach out of sight,
High up above, and the hatred took flight
And day insidiously became night
It blotted out the once blue sky
The light struggled to shine through,
And the hope of a new garden had already begun to die
With ill intentions, we tried to trim it
With a dogmatic shear,
We said, “Join us, not them, lest the foliage consume you and all you hold dear”
Still, higher it climbed -
Heavenward near.
Snatching away everything that we hold dear,
And still we fed it with a callous fear
Until it became too late
And upon the dying land, lay our fate.
In darkness we did grieve,
Blaming each other
For that hopeful day,
We blindly threw asunder,
And now all bereave
We belatedly now see our blunder,
The love we forgot, the united we did plunder,
And the compassion that we pushed deep under.
If once together we had came,
Armed with a singular burning loving flame,
And Burnt away the Hate.
We shalt have woven in time -
The foliage’s deserved fate.
And If United we had tended -
The garden of compassion,
We shalt have the foliage its fate rendered.
Love would then be a reality and not something to be remembered.
But we sharpened our shears with Hatred,
And not Compassion, Tolerance and Love
And nowhere in sight,
Could we still see the remnants of the peaceful Dove.
And in darkness our hearts grow colder
And compassion was no longer to be found
He hath aeons back retreated over the yonder
And forevermore we shall look back in darkness,
And see, that with shears laced in love – the foliage would be a carcass
A winter shrub in all its starkness,
A **** that was easily plucked,
But it is too late, the land is dry and from it all loving humanity was ******
The desolate, deep foliage encumbered forest
Bereft of care, not a shimmer of hope left amongst it
The last root of the rose is gone,
Hatred has taken over,
And it has finally won
And the last seed of solicitudes days are finally done.
I fear hate may win, if we allow our compassion and tolerance grow thin
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