Born with unique genes
inside their souls,
a built in binnacle,
that holds a moral compass,
pointing the way
to being bona fide.

With luminous faces
as radiant as a sapphire-blue lake
that draws and holds the eye,
good souls cannot be unkind
and have no need for accolades.

There aren’t very many,
so If you get to meet one,
listen to the words
uttered from a mouth
that challenges
barnacled-encrusted lies
and dares to speak the truth.

Impervious to scorn,
unable to be wrong,
they’re like secular saints
or monks without a bell
tuned into strains of music
from the galaxy
that only they can hear.

Pete Seeger comes to mind,
whose singing, a divine light,
a diamond glinting in the snow,
is always a harbinger of Spring.

His banjo is emblazoned with the motto:
“This machine survives hate
and forces it to surrender.”

I also think of Eugene V. Debs,
whose tongue on fire
danced upon his shoulders.
His burning eyes believed
there can be such a thing
as the brotherhood of man.