Man Speaks

Man speaks, man writes, man dreams,
man waits to herald a new dawn,
the turning point in the destiny of man.

Man crawls, man stammers, man begs,
man summons from the depths of soul,
a strength that states he surely can...

Rise above, can love, can embrace,
those that mark his pained face,
with wrinkles, with grief, with hatred,
with animosity, with distaste.

Man yearns, man beckons, man seeks,
man humbles himself before the Glory,
that says that he is but a child of God.

Man pleads, man humbles himself,
man introspects, introverts, inspects,
himself who deserveths a beating by the rod...

So as to tame him, to smitten him,
to put him in his rightful place,
that he may know that his dominion is but small.

So as to shame him, to grace him,
to make him understand this time
that he must bow low once and for all.

Man is embittered, curses, refutes, challenges,
the Will that is hollowed, that Will that survives,
and he thus pays a hefty price like no other.

Man is impassioned to overcome these rules
that seem to set him back, to belittle him,
that mark him as a shameless brother.

A brother who cares not for his brethren
but for his own sorry lot, his own sorry self,
the fool that he is, that he always will be.

A brother that wants not to advance his creed,
but let them all starve and destroy themselves
as he slips away with all the powers that are of greed.

Man is imprisoned within the confines of his beliefs,
jailed to the very end of time as we perceive to know it,
he shall rot and die a very lonely, forsaken soul indeed.

Man is poisoned by the very beliefs that he holds,
destined to labour in illness, strife and hatred,
he shall witness his very own soul, slowly bleed...

Bleed across the green pastures that cover
this sacred earth that has been invested
toward the very glory that is the manifestation of Man.

Bleed across the blue oceans that span
this sacred space, this home, this abode,
quelling the deepest sorrow that belies a soul that wanes.

Man is left wanting, hoping, dreaming, fantasizing,
waiting for a positive turn of events that may transform
his life into something that is so very good.

Man is left bowing before icons that state
that man may be redeemed, if he but bow,
before ideals that tell him to live as Gods would.

Copyright © 1994 Hans Raffelt, All Rights Reserved.

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