Monday, May 10, 2010
He stares at empty fields, and waits for rain.
The earth below him cracked, and iron strong.
The dry wind whistles, moans, a sound profane,
As desolation sings its mournful song.
A child that cowers hopes for peace, for rest.
She huddles, soul and body, bathed in tears.
The anger swirls around her, and the rest
Is hidden, just a future wrapped in fears.
And two hands, borne by desperation, rise.
Two souls lift their pain and sorrow higher.
One strong, one weak, but both shorn of disguise,
Are held, redeemed and strengthened in the fire.
For in this world we work, we cry, we strive
And sometimes courage only means...survive!