I Am A Poet Who Composes What

I Love You, My Brother, Whoever You Are - Whether You Worship In A Church, Kneel In Your Temple, Or Pray In Your Mosque. You And I Are Children Of One Faith, For The Diverse Paths Of Religion Are Fingers Of The Loving Hand Of The One Supreme Being, A Hand Extended To All, Offering Completeness Of Spirit To All, Eager To Receive All.

For The Criminal Who Is Weak And Poor The Narrow Cell Of Death Awaits; But Honor And Glory Await The Rich Who Conceal Their Crimes Behind Their Gold And Silver And Inherited Glory.

There Are Those Who Give With Joy, And That Joy Is Their Reward. And There Are Those Who Give With Pain, And That Pain Is Their Baptism. And There Are Those Who Give And Know Not Pain In Giving, Nor Do They Seek Joy, Nor Give With Mindfulness Of Virtue; They Give As In Yonder Valley The Myrtle Breathes Its Fragrance Into Space. Through The Hands Of Such As These God Speaks, And From Behind Their Eyes He Smiles Upon The Earth.

Love Is A Gracious Host To His Guests Though To The Unbidden His House Is A Mirage And A Mockery.

Like The Seeds Dreaming Beneath The Snow Your Heart Dreams Of Spring.