I Shall Follow The Murmur...

I shall follow the murmur, From the harmony I hear within; Each fragile tone holds firmer, Than if they had not there been. For all the voice from a heart, Is thunder or drops from rain; Tones unite can't drift apart, Or cause some dissonant pain. They chant mildly through you, Like a lovely song you hear; Or a river that streams through, And water thy roots with care. Clouds shall drift on in your sky, And bring forward whatever you won; And with that you'll grow up and die, And seedlings from you go on. All love that comes from within, Is deeper than truest of words; Never as ink shall perish or thin, Or wander away like a flock of herds. Lift up thy spirit with love that grows, Let demons of hatred be gone; What then will happen he only knows? Who continues his love thereon. To follow what love stands for, Is much harder than we all think; If dissonant faints you rest a sure, A peaceful harmony it'll bring. To stretch for a rose without seeing love, Will only bring a wound from a thorn, You must handle thy love with a glove, From all tempers that are ill worn A heart just done with a stone, Bears no streams where beauty is born; It will always keep a lifeless tone, No joy have therein and nor no morn. All freshest of blooms that glows, Came from the fruit that you ate; And life in each heart there grows, But not if it belongs to your hate. Bear with me this thought and mood, I meant just to upright with this; It came from my inner most root, It may be hopeless as any wish. Moments have those thoughts to give, To make your fire burn and build; Therefore you must up rise and live, Even the windmills you have tilt. I shall follow the murmur of thoughts, When ever I find where its road leads; Purity shall always see thorough frauds, Weeds are amidst all our feats. Feel you not with fire delight, You still have to be born with all of that; For wrong is always as truthfully as right, Promises not kept are really never had. Empty with out love is a word, But not the feelings as a whole; You can rub every word with dirt, But feelings like souls have a role. In it is a stage of your own, The play writer of every part is you; But just as seeds of its fruits are grown, So must all of you life be too.