poetry – Page 105 – Picking Up Roots

Hope

these words are nothing -
they live unseen -
these words are everything -
they are me -

spill the ink upon the page
covering its nakedness
with the blood of your dreams,

these words are a window -
they peer into my soul -

is their hope left there?

Dawn Reveals

sunlight bleeds dawn onto the black night sky,
its light revealing the depth of our wound;

for we are a damaged people
shrouded in the sadness
of our collective hatred
of those things we choose not to understand;

can we heal this open hurt
whose roots are sown so deep?

with the warmth of love
and the gentle patience of time
we have a sliver of hope;

we must cling to it,
nurture it,
help it to grow
that we might realize
a happier dawn

Being the Weather

we are the weather,
each destructive gust
of every violent storm;

we shun suicide
but are killing ourselves
to live;

our choices -
our luxurious desires -
destroy us

we mourn the loss of accountability,
but fail 
to look in the mirror:

the world starts with us,
we are the power
we so desperately crave;

can we find the wisdom
to wield it for the health
of the world