![]() The word which bids confusion cease And answers the pleas of a lost generation, That worships at the feet of Scoff and Reason, The gods of the age. That little word, the enemy it shall fell, That sets the mad in their right minds And opens the ears and the eyes Of the deaf and blind. That word which dispels the black night And stands firm after the towers crumble And the dust billows roil the morning sky And the creation groans under the curse. No word offers more hope in an age fertile in death Than that which bids the sorrows cease, The word that stops the torrents and waves With one hand lifted in authoritative calm But.
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AuthorTy Perry is a writer and blogger living in metro Detroit. Archives
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