When We Turn To One Another For

There Are Those Who Give Little Of The Much Which They Have - And They Give It For Recognition And Their Hidden Desire Makes Their Gifts Unwholesome.

How Can I Lose Faith In The Justice Of Life, When The Dreams Of Those Who Sleep Upon Feathers Are Not More Beautiful Than The Dreams Of Those Who Sleep Upon The Earth?

Where Is The Justice Of Political Power If It Executes The Murderer And Jails The Plunderer, And Then Itself Marches Upon Neighboring Lands, Killing Thousands And Pillaging The Very Hills?

And Let It Direct Your Passion With Reason, That Your Passion May Livethrough Its Own Daily Resurrection, And Like The Phoenix Rise Above Its Own Ashes.

You Talk When You Cease To Be At Peace With Your Thoughts; And When You Can No Longer Dwell In The Solitude Of Your Heart You Live In Your Lips, And Sound Is A Diversion And A Pastime. And In Much Of Your Talking, Thinking Is Half Murdered.