Once upon a time, an idea was formed. To give us all a lovely thing, yet it was horned. Everything it did would control our mind. Praying to God that we could be kind. Anything wrong we said, would be gone; left as a shred. Our self-conscious mind tells us to stop, yet all that the creature does, is weed their words out of it's crop. How can we survive like this, barely on our toes? Heh. Only God knows. And yet we care for this creature, feeding it our breath. Look carefully. We're close to death. Waking upon the next day, a small child born in hay. This, our creator God, gave to us, to care, to change; thus. Care, grow, be stronger. His words, never kinder. His purpose? To die, for us. When did we deserve this? For a child ever so small, to grow, and astound us all? He changed the people's mind. He made us think, we shall be kind. What has. that gone to? We started anew.. then anew, anew, and anew. We've gone further from His word. We've left from the peace he created; our old world. Yet, life goes on and everything's the same. People fighting, somebody to blame. Others hide away, to keep cover from the fire. Yet sometimes they come back.. just for what they tire. The same words, the same curse. With their fights, the same lips purse. In anger they raised their fists, caught up in their shared, unaware mists. 'Thou shalt not speak. Thy sins shall break.' Yet our creature comes back, taking all of what we had accomplished, storing it away in it's own shack. So tell me, my friend, why do we live like this, our lives near the end? How can we love, if love hangs by a thread? The dove our souls once were, are no more. Poof! Dead. Now tell me, my dear. What was it you wanted to hear?"