The valley gets tickled with rain.
Here the earth shows no wounds or pain.
Dreams nest in the trees.
Spring song formed by passing birds and bees.
Leave your greed at the gate, no need for that poison here.
My mind remains clear, when not pointed with that spear.
Unfortunately there is a time when some immerse themselves with corruption.
You my friend have become more machine, than a real person.
I hold compassion for you but it will not satisfy your need.
Nor does the company I keep hold the conversation on which you feed.
The regeneration will not take place, while the fire still burns.
People you surround yourself with, effect how your soul will turn.
Purge or be purged, hang on to what is real.
Make some choices with your morals your hiding, not on how your wallet feels.
© Deon Heemskerk 23-9-2012