Could it be that love is lost
deep within the frost of those
who only grasp at the straws
of fame, blind often to The Flame.

The love they find is in the flow
of things that pass overhead.
Begging, clawing, conniving
and climbing the ladder
'til they're deaf to the cries
of those who weakly pass below.

Some, who find no time for hate--
ask only for compassion.
They speak for those who are mute,
and in the throes of desperation.

These few are the clowns of our land.
Their mistake is lending a hand
to those who need a lift,
while the rest sit and wait
for one to pass whom they can hate.

If wherever you look
all is black,
just let love light the path
of the dark life you lead.
All you need is just to ask,
and you will be set free.