The Rolling Stone

The Sun rose in the mornings

Sending smiles and greetings

To the dawn of a new day

For us to rise well and gay

To usher in new hopes and love.

Yet, the smell of moral death

Pervades wasteland of our heart

And saints grieve awfully:

Our decadence not properly

Caged in the bowels of time.

The green light of love stands lame,

Our conscience in swirling rolling flame

As humanity slides toward decay

Like automn leaves burnt to waste

And our standards ruduced to ashes.

The bleeding face of strife questions

Civilization of its driven notions;

Whether it's domicile in alters of Baal,

The prized agent in the court of Kal.

Or don't we honour nemesis?

Nonetheless, adorable smile of Nature

Drown these complexes to nurture

Compassion, empathy in relationships

In good stead to stir the moral ship

To a right course in the affairs of man.

The contradictions that assault

In the courtyard of minds ought

To reveal hidden unity in us

Without grinding the crux of source

For adventure to spheres of bliss.