All the miserable young poets
don't seem to know
love is a weapon
against every ill
that makes the world cry...
don't seem to know
love is a weapon
against every ill
that makes the world cry...
The unknown can seem like the known at times.
Mere fear can seem like the truth
disguised.
Nothing is clear
no one is heard
problems are never resolvable
but the heart doesn't care about any of that
for what other truth is out there in fact
but love in the universe?
And what doesn't feed on our fear
but faith
in whatever it is we
believe in?
The dream of a better and larger world
shows the world of death as a dead world
that has no hold
on immortal
hope
for in our dreams we are Gods
and it is only in our dramas
we are not.
