Colin F. Jones


I fair not well in vainglory; sensibility’s cruel foe
Contradicting and hypocritical; bruising the toe,
For one cannot hide kindness, if one knows he is kind,
Tis all imprinted in ones footsteps, one leaves behind.
When the stone in the throwing is dropped in the arc,
It rolls back to the thrower; he must leave his mark.
One learns from the mud how to breathe the clean air,
Though the passion is gone and it’s hard to show care.
War takes from our senses the willingness to love,
Like poverty and prejudice; they go hand in glove.
It is not easy to rise from the dastardly mire,
With a wave and a smile, and words to inspire.
But we try – we must try to discourage our rage
That humanity survives despite the wars that we wage.