The Flight of Love
The power is in our hands, to change the world,
but whom do they serve, when the flags unfurled?
It is the bank account, that gets the victory,
The strike of the gavel, be it pine or hickory.
A life of desperate peace, or certain civil war,
how can power lead, when rotten to the core?
Will the world ever be, that promised wonderland,
or just a facade of lies, from an evil underhand?
We are defined by, all that we endure,
The fall to temptation and evils allure.
Only by rising above, can we see the light,
The light that gets us, through the dark night.
Long have they known, musicians flying high,
what we should be doing, just not why.
For in the end, like the whiteness of a dove,
wings are not needed, for the flight of love!
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