Of Song

Now as I sit here, I think in my head,

What of the world today?

What of this, the wars and days of this life?

For many a wound is cast and many a song.

But yea! A wound of needless anger,

And a song without purpose.

Hate, anger, envy, scandal are plenty,

And thus the music reflects their emptiness,

The life of a people or person.

Songs of nothing but scandal and abolished love

Of bitterness and stupidity are today's,

With no point other then to touch the outward feelings of people,

And let them weep or laugh only to continue unchanged.

A song should be to help one better,

Or to praise the Almighty One above.

A wound should be well earned for a cause and deed.

But yet this is near impossible without it's song.

Indeed song should cause a true fire to be lit,

That would be meant to engulf the core of a soul,

For none but that better greatness,

To serve unto death.

And live thereafter forever in spirit,

Knowing how you have not lived without purpose.

But yet knowing yourself as complete within your power before God.

Yet all because of the fire of song.

If song were yet used to its justice.

For God is the spirit of song we must look for.

And not the false tunes played by the shepherd of goats.