Wounded Consciousness Poem by Samuel Santana

The human being is born pure
like a white flower.
And spills its perfume without
ask for whom.
There is a lightened consciousness
for good, for altruism and
for love.
Its aroma is so strong that it resists
the clash of impure hands
and the terrible eyes of fire.
But it's for a while.
With the constant acid rain,
then comes the fear and the
decrease of its splendor.
Then there is no one who can
heal the branches wounded,
weeping and deeply resentful.