Humanity

The dove is the warning, her soft coo the call,
To those looking for shelter, hope in withdrawl.
The fountain of wealth, prosperity, hope,
Stands atop a solemn hill with not a dream or a mope.
The stories, they speak of this fountain so high,
Where the angle on its peak seems to reach the sky.
If you’ve ever run cross this fountain, you know,
In the winter its aura melts the snow.
Your feet aren’t wet, you no longer hunger,
But time is frozen, you cannot go farther.
Not a step nor a word can break the silence,
And so many walk by without even trying.
And yet thousands more stand petrified,
At the beauty and hope of this fountain divine.
No one can decide what its strange power is,
Except not a soul may come close to touching it.
The waters, they fall with a twinkle and crash,
And tempt those not yet caught in its trap.
In money and desire the fountain feeds,
And will lead you nearer as you fail to succeed.
Your hopes, your dreams, it depends upon,
To keep it living, to keep it strong.
It’s a mystery to me how nobody could see,
That the fountain simply represents humanity.
There’s the warning, the want,
The dependence on others,
To feed you, to help you, in times of trouble.
And yet much too proud to simply ask directly,
Instead having to trick and tempt the sickly.
And the dove she flies, and she sings her sad song,
Because only she knows that we won’t last that long.