I’ll believe perhaps

 

I’ll believe life is good

when you can show me

the faces of Syrian children,

smiling.

I’ll believe life is good

when you can show me

the empty stalls

of the last veal calves

closed forever.

I’ll believe in life

when the trees tell me

they can breathe again,

when no man wields a gun

and death

with the impunity of a god.

Show me justice, compassion, respect,

then I’ll believe,

not before.

After the last trial

975px-Mikalojus_Konstantinas_Ciurlionis_-_SEA_AT_NIGHT_-_1906

The earth’s bones ache

muscles flinch

and the taut

still nervy tsunami sinews

snap in seismic synchronicity

annihilating the pestilence.

 

Moon silvers

the sleeping silence

of still waters.

 

The broken and the maimed

breathe deep of the stillness

the healing absence of fear.

 

Peace flushes the smoky air

then perhaps

a new beginning.

 

 

One voice in the wind

I am tired of writing the same words,

feeling the same pain,

stifling the same tears,

hands raised to my face,

in a gesture of despair,

again and again.

Who am I?

What does my sorrow matter?

Not a jot in the sands of time,

the starred and clouded sky,

in your fossilised hearts.

But grains of sand make mountains,

the sky our rocking cradle,

and your hearts will shatter

beneath the great hammer of history,

if enough stars and grains of sand

join to form the hands

to wield it,

and one day,

they will.