Second Step

800 years after that passion,
People walking around-black or white choose your fashion.

And they claim that we all form part as one,
Homes being stripped to the ground, part of some evil fun.

Yet they claim to be part of this hidden power,
When they throw rocks and stones, trampling forests, flowers.

Stay clear from me yellow flower and lost rose,
As you put me in a corner, shall I continue to smile? I suppose.

And will this torment and order of man and woman face each day,
Yet at the same time not wanting the young do their play.

Maybe its the way of moving forward on this path,
Which path as there are so many, I will sit still rather and have my laugh.