We strike the hearts of golden statues,
Inside them we find and describe the futility.
This innocent man who beautified the world
Has created his own house where no statues exist.
Open these writings with the key of success
So that reading and writing beleaguers the olden men.
Internal strife stagnates the soul’s journey,
But where is the pain so descriptive?
Disrupt nobody in this nation of brilliance,
Offend nobody, nobody must be destroyed
But the statues of great art, the living stones?
No! - They reside in the crevices of flames
And so smoke and ash leap into the sky.
Inculcate these beliefs in the heart
And the head shall follow with similar faith.
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