Loud goes the uncountable sounds
Yet, the quality has fallen down.
The world, a reflection of the interior
The only mandatory job?
We are to shape and mold,
The one looking at us from within; our whole.
What we do, or don’t, shapes tomorrow;
Forms our happiness, and sorrows.
As important as our own feelings,
Are those, held by all the other living
Sharing, and creating on the same little rock.
Have led us to a gate of possibly reversing,
The progress we’ve made.
Many want and are ready to jump on
To say world, I’m gonna make you into a vision
Of what I believe is good.
But the first home, our soul,
And expectation of others to do
What we ourselves don’t see worth
Makes the heart sour; the mind clogs.
The quality of who we hold,
Is ultimately a signature;
No façade, no show
Will ever cover, or morph.
In this same manner
Our pure scent stretches beyond,
The ability of any pretense to pass a copy,
As original work.
We are all unique;
Designed with a special purpose
To radiate as singularity into the unity.
Gardens can only grow,
As we plant the flowers we want to see bloom
And tend to the fields,
With patient care, and unconditional true.