EARS, BUT CANNOT HEAR
In this earth, there are words. These words fight among themselves biting and stinging like scorpions. So many of them coming across the eyes of those who have no direction. Entering from all points, they rise to a thunderous and grievous noise.
Words, who can say what the speaker truly intends by they that fall so glibly from the tongue? Still, do not be quick to condemn them for what they do for they may not truly know. The morning dew will still cling to the young grass and the dogwood trees will still bloom in the spring.
Words, they cause the value of worthlessness to increase beyond the wildest dream of avarice. Is there still value in Human life? Can there be so much contention in keeping the sacredness of life in the young girls womb? It seems that to some the answer to this and other questions is no, for they sell their entire soul for that which is needed not.
Even thus, the word tide does go out for a time, and all wait with baited breath for it to come again; cascading down with raw fury to once again deafen the innocent and wreak havoc with peace. To wash away the shore of peace and try to topple the foundation of faith.
Will the mountains of the dead, surrounded by the oceans of blood, ever be washed clean by the roaring, deafening sea of words? How can man justify the death that their words wreak upon the children of innocence? Still, the plague extends across the land as frogs after a summer rain.
Words, each bearing its own away down the stream, cascading over the rock of reason only to fall frothing into the deep dark pools of ignorance far below.
Is this the legacy that we shall leave our children?
For me to know that I have brought upon this earth the damnation of this plague of words, a plague for which no man will find a cure, leaves me with a loss for which I can never hope to repay. How can I hope to arrive, to return that for which I haven't the skill.
Words, does anyone truly listen anymore? Are there any who hear the cry in the wilderness? Where are they that lay down all and expect nothing in return? Alas, I fear the end is near as I watch the jester try to steal the thorny crown.
Can a ray of hope survive? Will yet another derail humanities train of thought there by negating light with darkness once again?
The answer to this my friend, is not blowing in the wind, however it is your choice.
For skyrockets still explode and none fizzle when the golden haired young lady walks into the room. It may still come as a surprise when she finds spring has not yet come and the flowers still are yet to bloom.
Soon expectation will become despair as every one changes costume and tries to hide behind a different mask.
How can we bear all the faceless ones who dance around and try to win our favor, to loose the rose when so close to victory and yet so very far.
None will ever find this one alone.