A Roan Sow

There is a moral center to the universe
It can be tapped into, and understood with ease.
Yet, men fail to comprehend it by choice, turning
Their faces away from it, even scoffing it.
Yet, within the particle of language there is
Truth, and stories embodied within the very
Words used in that language. Truths which can be expressed.
Yet, falsehoods creep in because men reject the truth
And rebel against the principles which cause joy.
Rather, a certain kind of man has no conscience
And no ability to understand truth's Word.
For, to them, they wish for evidence from the ground.
Digging in the dirt, when the truth comes from places
Which are like still air, present, able to be felt.
And like stranded men, off a ship with broken sails,
Those lost souls turn their frigid ice upon earth's winds
To putrefy kindness with frostbite, and deaden
Souls with what they have found digging in frozen mud.