Exercise
Who
is served when silence reigns
In
lands of quiet cold, and waste
Removed from days competing haste
That
leaves the mind in huddled pains
To
seek a place that bars all thought
Of
plays and games we all partake
Though deep inside we cry mistake
Fresh lands we all have sought
Each
morning brings us not the sun
To
flood anew our thought- torn brain
`Tis
more a storm of flooding rain
To
keep us far from one
So
many deal in things as such
All
striving on the newborn stage
They
leave it savaged with their rage
Reborn again by lethal touch
Denied once more all they have sought
Another morning dawns in doubt
As
those still seeking their way out
Have
learned how dear the price of thought
©
Russell Robison
