Sit On Those Hands
An innate spring of life the spirit
spurs fain
The happy veins when you see these
faces.
A love that tramples any storm. Life
is
A cheap offering just for these
offsprings.
Such pull puts the brain on a thin
thread. Blurs
What's right and meekly thrust the
most wrong turn.
It makes men make moves to see
them unscathed
Not aware the right wound is all it
takes.
Most times we fear what the world
might do them.
Not noticing we could be their worst
friends.
So we keep them from the ledge with
lies true
Only to be stung at the end by much
good.
The fragile hands will get fried, we
retort.
Turning then to fresh toys that can
wash plate.
We then blame and expect them to
game what they
Were not taught. Forgetting we are at
fault.
This dainty love has thorns; lammed
if we try
To sit on our hands. They should
reap their seeds.
See life as a bed of both pines and
mines.
Then can we arrests regrets ere it
gets dim.
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