When I look at the world

I see a hundred million people,

All lonely,

All wishing someone would care about them,

Too worried about not being loved

To bother loving anyone else.

The irony of it is,

Everyone else is doing the exact same thing.

If only they could break through

The invisible walls all around them

And realize that beyond the walls

Of hate and fear and misunderstanding . . . .

Are countless people just like them.

The seed is planted in the cold,

Sprouts in the sunlight,

And blooms in the heat.

So the same with people;

Change begins in hardship,

Grows in grace,

And perfects itself

When the need of the situation arises.

If you can't rhyme, then sing;

Music needs no rhymes to carry it,

No words to define it,

No poet to birth it.

Music is the melody that thrums

Within the soul of man.

If he stops talking and listens,

Stops straining and rests,

He will hear it.

For it does not exist because of him;

He exists because of it.