I heard ‘Me’ talking to myself
Of a great yearning for creativity,
Placing much above the self
The worth of true ability.
This great feeling of deep desire
To create or mold and feel,
The ideals that I aspire
To heighten and unconceal.
From the fathoms of my brain
I hear an echo of reproach,
For having wasted and slain
The thoughts that I did coach,
And train for utility.
I feel I must do much
With this possession of sensitivity,
For by itself as such
Will dead be creativity.
Spending on others is noble A trait so human and global Yet selfish we do become Ignoring the sad and glum And then we do shy away If we have little in our tray Others we can ask to pool in If our own...
When darkness looms everywhere When tyranny does cause a scare When life and honour are at stake When worries do keep us awake When truth becomes an alien thing When every rogue becomes a king Pledge...
This mighty servant of God Obeyed impulsively His nod His spontaneity is astounding Mind boggling; dumbfounding So affectionate and concerned Wanted God's wrath overturned Hospitable he was to the cor...
