I Shall Follow The Murmur... Poem by Peter S. Quinn

I shall follow the murmur,
From the harmony I hear within;
Each fragile tone holds firmer,
Than if they had not there been.
For all the voice from a heart,
Is thunder or drops from rain;
Tones unite can't drift apart,
Or cause some dissonant pain.
They chant mildly through you,
Like a lovely song you hear;
Or a river that streams through,
And water thy roots with care.
Clouds shall drift on in your sky,
And bring forward whatever you won;
And with that you'll grow up and die,
And seedlings from you go on.

All love that comes from within,
Is deeper than truest of words;
Never as ink shall perish or thin,
Or wander away like a flock of herds.
Lift up thy spirit with love that grows,
Let demons of hatred be gone;
What then will happen he only knows?
Who continues his love thereon.
To follow what love stands for,
Is much harder than we all think;
If dissonant faints you rest a sure,
A peaceful harmony it'll bring.
To stretch for a rose without seeing love,
Will only bring a wound from a thorn,
You must handle thy love with a glove,
From all tempers that are ill worn

A heart just done with a stone,
Bears no streams where beauty is born;
It will always keep a lifeless tone,
No joy have therein and nor no morn.
All freshest of blooms that glows,
Came from the fruit that you ate;
And life in each heart there grows,
But not if it belongs to your hate.
Bear with me this thought and mood,
I meant just to upright with this;
It came from my inner most root,
It may be hopeless as any wish.
Moments have those thoughts to give,
To make your fire burn and build;
Therefore you must up rise and live,
Even the windmills you have tilt.

I shall follow the murmur of thoughts,
When ever I find where its road leads;
Purity shall always see thorough frauds,
Weeds are amidst all our feats.
Feel you not with fire delight,
You still have to be born with all of that;
For wrong is always as truthfully as right,
Promises not kept are really never had.
Empty with out love is a word,
But not the feelings as a whole;
You can rub every word with dirt,
But feelings like souls have a role.
In it is a stage of your own,
The play writer of every part is you;
But just as seeds of its fruits are grown,
So must all of you life be too.