For light in obscurity


This day breaks to dull cloud, the promise of rain (perhaps) and the promise (kept) of shooting. Even on this day when we honour those who died so that we (not they) could live this green and pleasant present, when church bells toll in remembrance, even now, dans nos campagnes men are killing for pleasure, while in the city, the streets echo with yesterday’s marching feet, to defend the right to live in the deep, dark past, wrapped in veils of otherness.

On this day of remembrance of the horror of mass murder, senseless killing, the tragedy of wasted lives, I dream that we all walk together, bare-headed, face to the one sun, not to demand the right to live in the dark, but the right to have a future and to use the mighty, explosive potential that lies in each of us, to think, create, shape our own ideas and give them wings.

Flying in her own skies

she soars high but not free

the gentle dove of peace

a target for the hunter

hiding by the hedge.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.