Passion

Knowledge yields but little
        That heart and soul be filled.
From objects stark and lifeless
        No noble acts are willed.
But passion is the ether
        By which the cosmos fly;
And courage soars, and armies cheer,
        And mighty anthems rise;
And love professed, and poems penned,
        And songs of beauty sung.
But passion too, that poisoned sword,
        By which great harm is wrung;
Life is lost, and cities felled,
        And horrid acts unspoken;
Hearts are pierced, wounds made deep,
        And bonds of love are broken.
Great peril is in passion,
        Unbridled by fair heart;
But empty, dark and soulless is
        The world without its mark.
We choose the way of passion,
        Amid its strife and storm;
But through the clouds and torrent,
        Resplendent days are born.

Truth

Gaze but long enough,
        Entangled thought doth see:
Lakes of sand, Potemkin wealth,
        A marionette beauty.
With deeper gaze the truth we craft
        Confirms our vested stand;
Aside all else that might conflict,
        As conscience sore demands.
O what might to breach the wall
        Of practiced self-deceit;
By time and age it crumbles;
        Regret-filled floods run deep.
Protect me from refracted truth
        Through lense of selfish ways;
And let me see the truth that is:
        Your warmth, your touch, your gaze.