Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Riding with an axe in the handle? Hold on!

In the palm of each soul, unfolds a brand new story;

The radiance in each face, singing verses of His glory.

How, when, in what and why we're different,

No mortal can think and tell;

Yet, in one heart lie our roots,

The deepest depth of our shell.

When petals go on to bloom,

And their sweetness go on to lose;

Who is it that staunchly objects,

Beautiful dew instead to choose?

Who is it, in innocence, suffering their several pricks?

Who reflects back the meanness spewing in their kicks?
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