The winds of endless war
Are blowing in the day.
A mind set on destruction,
Life means nothing, they say.
Pray for an enlightenment
In the minds now gone astray.
Voltaire sought this light
As did minds that saw the way.
Interpretation is what's at the root,
Which grows a tree of hate.
Death claims us all but not by stealth,
Which human minds have opened the gate.
Note:
Death
Two months before his death, the ailing Voltaire bid the crowd farewell at a production of his play Irene: "I die adoring God, loving my friends, not hating my enemies, and detesting superstition." Voltaire died in his sleep on May 30, 1778, in Paris, France.
Share
Print
Save
Follow
