A beautiful life:

Savage is the soul which looks upon mercy with hate.

Epic is the silent man who speaks words of love.

The journey to a heart, is yet to be unearthed.

And so, this world in it's youth grows still.

Yet where do it's roots lie?

In man, who will eventually die?

Indeed much can be learned in a lifetime;

But not enough to compel this world,

Such a young seed, to grow.

Oh, if only an eternal creature;

With humanities strength could

Bring forth all faith;

And nurture this poor fading star.

If, too long, this world remains

A boy, it will never grow to be a man.

And if ever it was less naïve,

Then corruptive human hands;

Have compelled it to fade back into youth.

Oh, the silent cries!

But then can such a world;

Which permits fine lands and scented flowers to grow;

Last so long beneath the cold hateful fumes;

That were conceived by human hands alone?