-- The Voice of Conscience --
by John Herlihy
A person’s conscience is a powerful thing,
Even if negativity of our will says otherwise.
This inner voice makes ready its deadly sting,
When we listen, we realize how to be wise.
Our conscience speaks clear the good told,
Its watermark bears the hallmark of honesty.
The voice of conscience speaks feeble and bold,
Whispering crucial values to reveal their mystery.
In some, the voice of conscience lies dead,
To be silenced somehow, as if wearing a hood.
The willpower claims willingness to lie instead,
Without giving any care to the universal good.
Conscience can drive us into the darkest abyss,
Makes clear all the things we have done wrong.
A clear conscience lifts us up into realms of bliss,
Allows us to sing melodies of our internal song.
I feel something within me and deep down I know,
Our conscience lies deep within us, quiet and still.
In a hidden place where even the heart doesn’t go,
With revelations as scripted with a feathered quill.
My conscience speaks in a thousand odd tongues,
All the good and evil that forms the basis of a tale.
Each tale condemns or lifts me up onto higher rungs,
To be either a saint or a villain seeking the holy grail.
In the end, with morality, let there be no pretense,
In all our future judgements, how dreadful they be.
When I sit by myself alone, I listen to my conscience,
Whose judgements I consider valued enough for me.
The light of the world enters the eyes of the body,
To offer daytime visions of which we never tire.
The light of conscience enters the eye of the soul,
To keep alive with a spark of some celestial fire.
This voice lying within us as a mysterious ghost,
The voice of conscience, who may this voice be?
Isolated within our hearts as responsible host,
Or is it the Lord God speaking directly to me.
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Copyright ©John Herlihy
Tuesday 24 December 2024
As I recall I often felt the sting of my conscience after the fact when it was hard to right it. Like when I was shooting, with permission a farmer's unwanted pigeons for food. I went to pick up a pure white one that I shot, all spattered with bright red blood, I felt really bad because it reminded me of the dove of peace. Even though it was a filthy pigeon ruining the farmer's hay in his barn.
It is obvious that many of the voters in the last election are dead heads with no conscience except for excuses when they are not making money by getting their taxes lowered from the most dead conscience of them all.
Ron