Oh, happiness, your love is pure!
Thou makest the weary joyful again,
Your beauty is truth and truth is life
A sweet symphony of life's fair bliss,
Couching upon our numbered struggles,
Emitting hope of triumph in battles;
Where canst thou bridge and not be felt?
Of men and babies, who can resist you?
Desolation quivers, and swiftly fades,
As doth a man who runs from fire.

A priceless gift yet hard to come by,
Such as who find you, find relieve:
Of feeble men you restore their strength,
Of laden women you lighten their burden,
For a better morn, why not for good?
Thy song is sung in honour of life
A beautiful rhythm to suit all seasons,
For ever winning, for ever leading,
Like legends of old in unique array
Where with we're clothed in flawless beauty.

What a rare treasure, What a divine package?
We've heard melodies but yours is sweeter:
Sweeter than candies, sweeter than honey,
And all that you are, a fair virtue!
A standing citadel in our sorrowful land,
Where we bury our grief, and fetch joy
As a weapon of war against our troubles,
Singing along in a merrier tone
And finding meaning, in brewed passion;
The meaning you add to our brief lives.

For those who have no gift to see,
There is naught but cruel reality.
But for those with mind and heart in stock,
The hidden doors of life unlock,
And pour out treasures beyond compare-
Simple treats, like cold, clean air-
Or a sunset ripe with firey soul,
The stillness of water inside a plain bowl;
A flower sweet on Spring's hillside,
The thump in our veins that keeps us alive;
A roll of thunder, and mornings song-
These are the virtues to be claimed all along.
What can't be seen by hurried man
Are things more precious than they understand;
For man may rush and push and live by the hour,
But time is wasted when you dont smell the flowers.

Sometimes I dream of a new start
a new world, the earth
without human vices

only divine births
of helpfulness and wisdom
so that those words become obsolete

finally no more auditions
of imaginary comedians
with endless filth

their bundling of centuries
of coercion, humiliation, and abuse
in the joke of The Aristocrats

A world without me
only plants, animals
and avatars as a kind

of people who walk the virtual reality
of the golden means
of Aristotle

Snakes take the throne,
          and the vipers spit there  
                         venom..

Let us learn the rattling in the
                        undergrowth heeds
us to walk away.

Let us not listen to those who slither
             on the throne meant

for ones of descent virtues.

The values of our relationships
and the commitment to our virtues
inspire and open our eyes.