The Cycle Of Life Poem by Jonathan De Vocht

The cycle of life

As the dove brought grace to a newly born child,
life began; it was exposed into the wild.
Spring reflecting eyes, owned by his parental pride,
for they knew, upon their head, the hope repose.
Glorious its mission, a far and weary ride,
humble to wisdom, yet strength he'll there depose.

Reveal from fail an luck, the yields to collect,
their task it is; reached by care and love affect.
Aware of the grand moment of shaping belief,
began the showing of things what they've been teached.
In mind, to strive towards a sigh of deep relief.
Still, a utopia can never be reached.

When the summer's sun would set upon the fray,
he knew to fight to elude th' icon of prey.
At sight of peace, cleared the haze from the inner voice,
and strengthen the signals of some hidden art.
Thru malign mights shall the path meander with a choice.
Many to come, but help is carved in the heart.

Many will repudiate the noble extract,
and despise it, by vile deeds that doth distract.
Perpetual folly, that drove them o'er the edge,
and leave the scen'ry to th'mutism's gate to tread.
They condemn themselves ne'er to dwell in the soul's pledge,
and to futile barren lives, the greed e'er led.

Pursuing determined, thru the autumn leaves,
a path with tears and smiles, wich meanings he heaves.
Often the troth to candor is lost in a maze,
seems immutably left to impunity.
Nugatory to thee, raised by th' aberrant gaze.
Embellish this harmony in unity.

The dow'r gift, wich is not to be forsaken,
he'll drain the wit, and yonder eyes awaken.
Dignity's pith and its ev'ry wee epic act,
should evoke th' esteeming of thy neighbor's gist.
Above him, ever lays the succor, it's a fact.
Long ago, an errand was unveiled from mist.

Time came, when winter blew the cold winds of death,
natural fate spoke blessings upon their breath.
Wounds set his mind unclear, so he found god to blame.
Soon dissipates the thought, appeared nevermore.
Lingers the soul, set fire to an unborn flame,
amazed from youth, they carried for evermore.

Great was his grief, but swore never to abjure,
the guide; for then its beeing in depth assure.
Tiny flowers unfold, ruler over all shame.
Stillness rised and showed, once disbelieved, an elf.
Heaven fin'ly send a sign, for it reached its aim.
Praise this realm, forever linked to life itself.