Humans are an experiment in creating three-dimensional life by a Host of beings who are pure love and pure energy. They created us and the human this experiment is in trouble. This is a poem that pertains to the gardener who weeps over a failed crop. Olan L. Smith
A Sower Weeps
©2011, Olan L. Smith
For too long I weep for humanity
Through lifetimes too numerous to tally
It has been my obligation to observe
In times of famine, war and premature deaths
And enhance the health of my designed creation.
Another cheers victories of unity,
Another lifts expectations of optimism
For a troubled harvest,
And— even another consoles the heart
Of survivors, for it is their sole task
To assist, the precious jewel of this realm― Earth.
Wings of angel are mid all things,
Living and inanimate―
They lift and comfort those forlorn
And only That which creates a Garden
Will weep over its untimely demise.
In between is a creation thrashing about,
Struggling with its own self and for their purpose
And they wish to understand why and how things exits
Yet, they refuse to open their inner eye of understanding
And they create gods to worship, to bow down before―
They insisting knowledge is discernible,
Finitely and they can grasp the infinite
With their mortal hands.
It is not a matter of where we originated
It is a matter of who we are
Our why we subsist—
It is an issue of what we have achieved
And what will be accomplish
To make this world a better place
And improving the prospects for our children
And their children’s, children.
Hope is alive, though our potential is unsure
And with deliberate strides we can be—
Camp Hope Earth.