The Sun Rises With Each Morning of Hope

"Reflections of pink, and gold on heaven’s floor, a hint of memories that came millenniums before, and the radiance of God’s glory, eying from behind the shore, is a new dawn, for our taking." The branching trees stand tall in the forest, on the canopy, clouds from heaven descend to rest. The leaves get luster from the rising sun to look at their best, after they are washed by the night’s divine rain. Humankind has spread like forest in clustered population, vibrantly nurturing the tenets of diverse civilization. People shared earth’s resources like in the ideal fiction, developed trust as a part of the survival process. Climate change stopped rains to shower as they should, the forest soil dries, and the trees soon become wood. Hit hard by the trying times people try as best as they could to find ways to merely subsist. The soil of humane feeling called kindness is drying fast, empathy sense in desiccated hearts doesn’t last. Life has turned into stagnant river, isolated and outcast, humanity is the museum of wooden people. In God’s own world so humane and benevolent once, blood flows thick as the incensed streams’ dance, as bullets rip through the buds of dream perchance, as discarded aliens the homeless drift. Terror flares up in the heartless hearths fanatic, lives mutilated by the despicable instincts lunatic, people plunge in sordid cesspool of vice and sin in a flick, morality is defaced by harsh intolerance. The children born to inhabit the world so beautiful still smile and play under the sparkling sky wonderful. The world will be caring again with God’s blessings so graceful, for the new generation the new sun will rise with each morning. (Quote by the sponsor)