why do we cry into the torrent and the wind
when the storms may be of our own creation...?
the strength of humanity pales
in the face of time and the natural

mother earth and father sky
how can we deliver to others salty cries
how can we ask people to die
in the name of the blessed creator

i know this is our little time
to plant our mark our seed
on this one sphere set
among billions scattered about
the infinite vista of the universe

i am a naive small man
and still i cannot understand
the odious power of hate
the clutch it holds on human hearts

it grabs and sometimes tears within me
and sometimes i am powerless
to force away its temptation
until i face from within and without
its terrible revelation

i mean this without callous thought or malice
but in a sincere innocence that fools and lovers
and dreamers seem to possess
i care not the name of your g-d
i would so never dismiss your g-d
i worship the concept of g-d
by what chosen name for me alone
does not matter for as Shakespeare said
"... for what is in a name, a rose by any other name
would smell as sweet..."

i do not debate that power's true nature
for i am as a single speck of sand
on a flowing sea pulled in and out of the tide
on our little beach which could be paradise
if we shared the perfect nature of that creator...