A Being of Uncertain Evil

Gentle roots touch hurting hearts; where pain and sorrow linger,

Absorb it through; all and all, until the effect is less than meager—

Spiteful words breed unconscious doubt; within the minds of men,

Thrown about in the storm of the world; never to be seen again,

Back around the calling wind; whose voice is sweet and small,

Back to when the world was just at her beginning’s crawl—

No hopeful verse to bring her up; only by her courage alone,

Would she then birth a thousand nations; the strains have now been sewn.

So why then the hate and envy; to the skies its turning red,

Redder than a sinner’s sin; here’s what has been bred—

Along the finer points of night, and in the sun defend,

Yet if the flame of anger burns brighter; here’s what to be said,

Take it all to break it down; this is the fleeting fear,

Left behind to the dying fields; where death is very near—

So what say the silver tongue, of a man who’s in denial,

What once before, to it again; where nature’s decision is final.