A speck of dust, an embers flare,
In a blink of times eye,
no longer there.
An instance in eternity,
all that we see,
within this brief flash,
who can we be?

A poet, a philosopher, a saint
of old,
words of wisdom hidden,
in story's they told,
an obvious secret they try to
reveal,
yet human nature continues
to conceal.

The pain and the strife,
it need not be,
the path of the spirit,
can set you free,
within our hearts,
lies a key,
which will allow us
to become
who we were meant to be.

A speck of dust, an embers flare,
the sun and the earth no longer
there.
An instance in eternity is all that
we are,
why in this instance do we continue
to mar,
this beautiful gift giving us life,
is it not time we find peace and end
this strife?

Crimson.

Cool

But Bushbarians no likey poetry. Bushbarians like bombs. Big bombs. Lots of big bombs.