The Permanent Spring

In a dark cold alley

Where the moist bricks taste of dim

Hatred, there lives an old notion of

Peace and sincerity huddled low

By a crate of rotting brown wood,

Filled with resentment for all

The world.

And if one stumbled upon

This solitary spot by chance,

They may find that everything they once knew

Has changed, and is now replaced by

A universal truth they feel anew,

Fueled by the conflict crouched clearly before them.

And they would slowly realize that the irony here

Is that in order to truly recognize

What exactly peace and sincerity mean,

They must first hold the world with low regard,

While existing in a solitary shell.

And only then will that ancient notion of peace

Begin to glow, and take hold upon

That crate of evils before it, and overcome

Those same evils before the eyes of the viewer

So that they might see life in a bright green light

And not in one grey and grim,

And the fluid of life will flow

As a new stream after heavy rains

And bring life into the soul

Unto which it flows,

Forever eliminating

The damp cold of the alley,

For a rather permanent spring.