THE IVORY DOOR
O mourn mourn mourn for the once Perfect World
now trampling precious gifts
heedless of cost.
O mourn mourn; mourn for our now dying world
flaunting its well sharpened tongue;
sightless: but flaunting itself.
Mourn for the world destroying its very own Life,
lost in deception:
Dulled-down minds and hearts;
strange spectacles for seeing;
minds ablaze with irrelevancies,
trampling precious gifts.
Where is quietness?
The restless sea
swallowing husbands and sons;
the insatiable TV
swallowing Time and minds;
the mind-glue-ing computer
hiding the ivory door in our mountain
leading to the passage of the Narrow Way:
the passage through haze to His Glory.
Mourn. Yes mourn.
Then awake and get going.
Such is our story.