We hope and strive to be just, above.

Where all things and beings would become,

Slightly better, off.

 

The good can't halt the bad, in its fight, desire to climb, reach the top.

The good stands firm beneath.

Yet, I know, all ascensions fall, climb down, melt, shall be blown away.

As odd passing patterns in the seasons snow.

 

Ever rest the roof of Earth.

Promise laid so high.

Hear her laughter,

As rich or lofty words collide.

Like continents adrift. Here. After.

 

Heat, friction build rising barriers, and brief eruptions.

They cannot throw all life down. Via crude elements.

 

The wild geese move aloft.

Soft feathers will ever float over cruel edges,

to cold and broken rock.

 

And arise, so high on warmth and light.

Beyond the walls of sound, or sight.

This is.

The work of progress,

Sorry, but steady, as she goes.