More Than This
Is this body truly us, or are we more than the feelings that stir inside?
Do our eyes perceive reality each day, or is it our spirit that asks why?
If we know love, and love is all there is, why aren’t all hearts open to it?
Are we projecting darkness outward, creating a vortex that draws us through it?
If everything flows from either love or fear, what kind of world are we creating—and why?
Isn’t it as easy to think kindly of him instead of hating the other guy?
The skin color is undoubtedly wrong; too many are told.
One seeks to blame life’s failures on “them”, and they hold
Others accountable for their own plight in life without ever thinking
Maybe it’s the absence of love that causes their hearts shrinking.
Then, when the heart is just a dot of its former self, and in repose, the body lies.
Will their spirit race from that cold, hard shell to give life another try?
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