By John D. Boyden
11/21/01 7:41 AM (copyrighted)
This large downloadable file is the author reading this poem Our world spins too loudly in space,
A quaint little egotistical place,
Full of sound, fury, nonsense and grace,
Full of love, heavens, beauty and lace,
Full of hate, hells, desecration and waste.
Silently others may watch our race,
To continue, survive, grow in place,
As we contest the hates, the hells and face,
ourselves through bombs, guns and chase,
While others pray, succor, love, and pace.
That is the sad reality of our case!
Always two opposite faces we brace.
The discordance of rhyme and jarring spites,
The joy of lights, the darkness of appetites.
We turn with Thanksgiving for goodness and grace.
Taking time, thankful for our little space,
Thankful for learning trials that efface,
Thankful for moments of life that embrace.
May God grant us beauty, success, caring, and erase,
The horrors, failures, hungers, and hurts from our place,
As we offer prayers and hopes for the misused of our race.
As we gather family, friends, and memories 'round our world's base.
May God bless us each race and to everyone's taste!
To come to His table as one, come in haste!
To grow in the knowledge of his given Son,
So that our race may be surely won.
Beat the Computer!
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