Little Children

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What is happening to this world?

Brother against brother we stand.

 

I see a playground

and on it, little children:

brothers and sisters

fighting over a Father’s love.

One Father, many children, one family.

 

I see a playground

and on it, little children:

the bullies and the victims,

fighting over their differences.

Some invited in, others cast out.

 

I see a playground.

On it, just little children:

the popular and the unpopular,

fighting over the right

to be on this playground.

 

Who decided this?

Why?

When?

 

The playground didn’t change much,

nor the rules of the game.

Neither did we.

We are the children of yesterday.

 

I see you, men and women:

Yesterday’s children,

fighting over land that is not yours.

Deciding fates, directing lives

you do not own.

 

Creation –

Humans, animals, plants, water, land.

You are stewards of these, not owners.

Never forget.

 

Beware little children,

for time is a fragile thing,

like wings of a butterfly on the wind.

Do not stray, little children,

for time is a sharp-edged sword.

 

So, play nicely, little children.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Surface

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On the surface beyond which no one looks –

a calm ocean,

a mirrored plane,

life continual.

 

The surface of my skin

may crack under melancholy and strain,

but perhaps even that

passes unseen.

 

The surface of my heart

in darkness waits –

untouched, yet guarded,

for love’s tender touch.

 

For only your touch –

key turned in lock,

at destiny’s feet

will move the surface of my soul.