This world needs our hearts, not our inks

This world needs our hope  
   
i have lived so much, more than my lifetime  
each day, i gather more time than 24' hours  
too much actions; emotions highly condensed  
   
have given heart and soul; body and devotion  
until i got the age of old books on the shelf  
until i got the memory of the dead Phoenix  
   
i have grown up with cypress and eucalyptus trees  
they aged long ago, still do i grow with inky sap  
learn from the morning and from the twilight zone  
   
have got the clear lessons from the dew of the dawn  
learned the hard ones from the rocks in the mountains  
and the wise ones from the darkest of the long nights  
moderation of my act,s in the ever green pine trees  
   
and yet, i still learn that the truth is never appreciated  
that innocence is regarded as a fake simulation  
and spontaneity, is the result of a wily experience  
   
i have learned that honesty is found in the books  
have even learned that romance rhymes with insolence  
that poetry should always be anything else but truth  
   
for, this very age has desperately sunk into self oblivion  
has desperately stripped itself from the true reality  
that this age people and writers delve only in themselves  
   
and that they still wallow in deep swamps full of uncertainty*  
desperately fight their self enemy, blindly, unknowingly  
shedding their inky tears, twisting the truth, seeking clemency  
looking for far-fetched alibis to whitewash their faults  
alas ! poetry needs truth, loyalty, honesty and reality  
   
This Beautiful world deserves our poetic devotion, and love  
This world deserves our smiles and deeds, not cries and tears