By Malcolm Little Black
A life of comfort,
Free from difficulty and struggle?
The seed that sprouts with ease,
Without pain and much trouble?
Life of material opulence,
Marred by spiritual poverty?
A life free from wants,
Devoid of growth and liberty?
The undiluted Truth,
Or the sweetened lie?
The true Bread of life,
Or the half baked pie?
The beauty in your fellow man,
Or his scar wrought by flaws?
To sooth his pain with acupuncture,
Or to pick his wound with claws?
The Will of God in every flower,
Or the Godhead therein?
Divinity in the soul of mortal man,
Or the spirit within?
The wisdom of the Ages,
Seated in the abode of mother Nature?
Or the high sounding words,
The hallmark of intellectual stature?
The good old bygone days,
Or the allure in the modern stupidity?
To better the lot of mankind,
Or to induce the reign of impunity?
To find the meaning of life,
Or to rebuff the guidance of the Writ?
To sift wine from water,
Or to bury ineptitude together with the wit?
Know that the good old Universe
Is generous and kind;
And whatever ye seek,
That ye shall find.
