The riches of the tongue are plenty,
the wealth of the mind bountiful.
Ones thought the epitome of creation and destruction,
the heart leverage of good and bad.
Waning years, aging faces,
language of the tongue loud,
sacrifice silent,
the ways of the world simple,
the door to good narrow.

What is better?
The riches of the world,
or that of the spirit.
But without gold's and diamonds, what good is ones worth?
What good is ones worth?, when cast against the reflections of many others.
We are simple creatures,
whose lusts persist,
always longing, no matter how much we take.

The festivities of the soul are many,
the mind blisters with intrigue,
of the oddness of the universe.
There exists not a single tear in existence
we cause not amongst ourselves.
Our being here should lead toward inevitability,
which is,
"love is the only means by which we can exist,
it is why we are bothered by trials,
as to open our eyes let they see and our hearts let they feel."

The riches of the tongue are plenty,
the wealth of the mind bountiful,
the tongue only echoes what resides in the heart,
the heart is deceitful above all else,
yet, it is only the heart that can bare love.
Words of calamity shouted from tooftops,
sacrifice silent,
the ways of the world simple.

© Panduwritingsco