On Being Silent

--by D.H. Franklin

So much to learn, such pain and strife
Seems to be part of human life.
There sometimes seems to be no rhyme
To this dimension trapped in time.
Why can't we just progress and grow
Through concepts we think we know?
Why do we detour and go round the truths
We think that we have found?
To live these truths is very hard
More so in our own back yards.
They are much simpler to profess
To others that we feel know less,
Than to be quiet and to live
The teachings that we wish to give
To those upon this magic wheel,
And yet somehow we seem to feel
That exhortations great and small
Will somehow make us all grow tall.
'Tis not the talking that will heal;
It's twined within the way we feel
Sometime I have the greatest urge
To be a wondrous thaumaturge;
To dazzle people with my skill;
To heal the world of all its ills;
To wipe the tears from every face;
To uplift all the human race.
Yet I know it could never be
For then the people would not see
The strength that lies within themselves,
Their probing minds that always delve
Into the peaceful, deep reserves of love
Within, without, and from above,
That guides them each and everyday,
And leads them on their separate ways.
I'll simply try to ease the plight
Of others reaching for the light,
By trying very hard each day
To live the words I wish to say,
The true examples of profound
In daily living do abound
A life that's lived upon false words
Is better to remain unheard.

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