I don't often write poetry because, frankly, I'm not that good at it, but this one turned out pretty well, so I thought I'd share. I'm not certain it's finished yet - I may still tinker with it some more, so feel free to offer any comments or suggestions.

Voices

Walk tall, we hear, with head held high...
The ancient whisper chants the spell
That doomed before us many brothers,
Sisters, others who, unable to tell
The malice buried in the words
Thought fair of form, behind them fell.

The whisper sounds of kindred voice
And speaks to us of what is wise,
Yet underneath its silvered tones
A creeping darkness spreads the lies
That wrought the death of Eden fair
And looks on us with hungry eyes.

Though now we may not bend an ear
Nor acquiesce to its demands,
Tomorrow waits, still haunted by
The spirits of our greedy hands...
But is this path our doom to walk,
To fill our days with endless grasping?
Better far to softly tread,
And burden not the world in passing.