There is no badge for caring, No prize for making time; There’s no gold rings adorn the hands That help us with the climb There is no medal given To him who love’s work braves: For good deeds die a natural death, And sleep in unmarked Graves
If morality Means anything, It means that We shouldn’t want to hurt others, Or ourselves, And should probably try To do the opposite
We need reminding sometimes.
Between the longing and the act Are matters there of conscience; For who the other person is; What might their long life haunt — But our desires know not of Morality – or others – For evil spreads by people blithely Taking what they want To gaze upon, then crush the living flower: There is … Continue reading "Between the Longing and the Act"
Back home, they call it “selling out”, But everywhere, it’s subtle — A word said here, or not said there, With no chance for rebuttal — So one man packs his boxes, and Another man moves in — They know, back home, you’re selling out, Because you’re so Bought in
I'm gonna change some minds.
They see no harm.
We do just what we like.
You try to raise them right.