There’s a rare few,
Ever few generations.
They arrive and leave,
A voice they leave, a hand they are.
This rare few leave in early years,
At no discretion of theirs.
Their lives spent well, yet taken young.
Their lives only say, “Wake up before its too late. Arise. Why do you sleep? The world hurts again.”
Can you see them?
Can you hear them?
These rare few, a voice of the divine.
You stay asleep…