Walking along these debris-laden streets, I remember you.
Was a time when we held hands, down these streets
Once clean and comfortable in serene weather
Talking warm with our breath close to each other's lips
When night was cold enough that our words formed cloud pictures against the dark
You were the one who told me that
Language didn't matter, that
All was understood when it came to love,
Ours spoke loud
Like megaphones over thousands of protesters
Demanding a right-er way of life
Another way for us to live.
Hopefully a reason to.
Love in it's grace, sweet and sincere
Was rough river waters and you were teaspoons of sugar
We mixed upon wading in each other
Churning creating foam
Dissolving into sweet still water
This love was not to be challenged.
I have seen peace in both
the lush and barren landscapes of
Tibet, Sri Lanka, Iraq, Afghanistan
Sceneries of Serenity
Mirroring a suggestion for life.
In cement cities and brick building burroughs
Ignorance burns a fire that
Trigger happy fingers and drop happy hands
Take as a smoke signal to shoot and bomb.
Suppose'd entitlement permits for God's presence
To be misconstrued, confused, twisted, distorted
Where common folk believe what's been fed to them
And doubt or ignore
The spirits of negotiating
The signals of mediation
Believe that communication
is lost like
Gems thrown overboard in the middle of a
Deep dark sea
To where the wearisome believe
there is no such thing as a retrieval of justice.
The fairytale is told
from one fed-up generation to the other they feed.
These people are my relatives
Only understanding the concept of land
In a way that doesn't rationalize ill actions
So then we, our people, desperate
Take it upon ourselves to pray
Before wars and battles
Instead of praying for peace.
Fortunate and not pushed to desperation
I pray for this peace in the form of
Love we once had
Long time ago, laden with cozy comfortability
Than this debris.
A love that rises above rallies and
Thousands of protesters
A love that is another prayer
That starts to exit mouth in warm breath
That creates clouds that make louder pictures
Than the words we may speak
Which talk to our existence as
Beings, children, landscapes of this earth
Which take on pictures-
Relaxed after a day in the fields of
Green where we lay content
With the foliage of earth plus sky
As our sustenance
Where clouds take on pictures of
Whatever our minds see
Whomever our minds want to see again
A type of peace our hearts wish for
May we be lovers in war, may we?
May we be prayers in war, may we?