MOTHER EARTH

The Earth is an old master of our fate,
Which will return our souls to the fine dust.
The Earth is an old guardian that must
Retain its majic hold o'er small and great.

We are the creatures of an early time,
Whose minds are filled with glimpses of Byblos.
Once more we are destroyed by the same foes,
Who mixed Ebla with the eternal grime.

Troy was to live again through Schli'mann's dream
Of finding where the fabled city lay.
The sceptics had lost forever the day,
They won no more of truth than a pale gleam.

Our souls were molded by the Hebrew dust,
To give the people of the world a faith.
The faith of the ages became a wraith,
Which turned the iron morale of faith to rust.

To dust our bodies will go when we die,
To eternal old ruins we search for truth,
When our eternal psyches need life to soothe
Our souls when in the ancient dust we lie.

No sacred promise can leave our souls bound,
No final answer can make destiny
Adhere to rigid laws that cannot be
Examined by a sense of what is sound.

The truth is where the mind will learn to search
For answers to the stormy trail of life.
The ancient ruins of Mother Earth are rife,
With the ideals of life on which to perch.