by Paul Gingras

Created on: February 11, 2009

Violence borne in man's heart

Anger and prejudice distorts the face of beauty,

While greed and malice makes a whore of mother earth;

They tear and devour her fleshy parts,

And steal her life-giving soul.

The violence borne in man's heart sheds a trail of tears,

Where misery and pain afflicts innocent and soldier alike;

It mutilates our young, maims our old men,

And embitters a nation.

People and nations have long harbored

Anger and resentment in their hearts.

We have annihilated and tortured

Out of fear and misunderstanding.

We have destroyed in the name of God,

The Great Spirit,

The Eternal Being,

As we have sought out those different

In the name of philosophy

And religion.

The disembodied spirit searches endlessly

For everlasting peace,

And spilt blood cries out for justice.

But there will be no peace or justice

Until we are able to sit

Without anger,

Misunderstanding,

Or resentment.

There will be no peace or justice

Until we are able to speak,

Honestly and truthfully,

What resides in our heart.

* * *
From a distant past, a people cry out to me.

Their chanting, misunderstood,

Cause fear and anguish

In a young soldier's heart.

The soldiers grumble, cowardice burning beneath

A thin, pale skin.

A shot rings out,

The bullet finds its mark.

A young mother lies in a pool of crimson blood,

Motionless,

Still clutching her newborn babe.

Who cries out for comfort.

A pistol crack silences the air.

It could be the American West,

Viet Nam,

Kosovo,

Afghanistan,

Or Iraq.

It could be the city streets of Boston,

Chicago,

Detroit,

L.A.,

Miami,

Or New York.

Anger and violence has torn us apart,

Rifts between peoples and nations.

But it's not too late.

It's not too late to repair the rifts,

To bridge the ever-expanding gulfs

With gentleness, truth,

And understanding.

* * *
A single, glistening drop of dew rolls

From the surface of a leaf

And falls towards the ground.

The span of time seems endless,

As the drop hangs motionless

Between creation and destiny.

It catches, magnifies the early morning sun

In its globular meniscus,

Shimmering,

Showering a multitude of colors.

I look again and see a tear drop

Shed for humankind.

A gentle wind blows, a voice speaks,

"When will my children learn

the ways of peace and justice?"

The tear drop falls to the ground,

Like a thunderclap,

It cracks the earth.

With tumultuous violence the earth shakes.

But the world's elite,

Blind, state the obvious,

It's back to business, as usual.

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