Sonne (Sun)

Let time harken to its master yet
Bearing an open heart to a closed mind
Engage that gray mass, less malice and regret
Remorseful be he who leaves nothing behind. Deaden the hate which becomes a burning fuse
Lest a passing wind in all its might
Would be unwilling to follow a path we choose;
When at dawn's birth would seem a vainful plight But love's gift may be nourished still
With the quiet restraint of a peaceful soul
Or love's travel with time will surely be nil
For always false words would appear to cajole Oh! Just as life owes itself to the sun
All things must be loved or we will have none.

by Richard Ritacco

Other poems of RICHARD RITACCO (2)

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