Mountains

Wheat fields full, a golden sheet
Spreads as far as the eye can see
Nature full beneath the ground
Full abundance on the tree
Where each man's wealth is shared by each
With no thought of return or gain
The world for which we strain

Where one man's colour brings no despise
Dark man, white man, just the name
His own religion his own affair
Thought of well and none to blame
In a world that's evil free
His reputation without a stain
The world for which we strain

That God may gaze upon and smile
Satisfaction in what he sees
That man has learned and man is wise
And say 'I see, and I am pleased
Each trusting each, the world as one
That which they sought they have attained
The world for which they strained

How far away? How far away?
Man still weak and man still blind
Mountains climbed only to find
Man made mountains lie behind
When will man cease to hinder man
And hurry the day we can acclaim
The world for which we strain

Reviews

[barleygirl]

Your poem is beautifully balanced between 2 poles I also bounce between: (1) we need to be optimistic & believe or nothing positive can ever happen . . . but . . . (2) damn! am I feeling jaded by the seemingly non-existent progress that humans are not trying very hard to make. Your repeating refrain: "The world for which we strain" is strongly-worded & your poem gives humans the benefit of the doubt for trying (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie