A tyranny of small minds
reign impure, more
like a stab wound
short stroke puncture of the heart
spills profusely flow
vacant core surplussed in need
difficult air and ebbing life;
laughter like demons
fills night and ear, visions capture eyes
grim hostage to disbelief
for even the blessed will see
days of the wicked, be led to an edge
to gauge perils of the pits
yet fall into grace, the quick
forgiveness of the weak,
will come to make a balm,
and the greater strength
of the peacemaker, will heal
the wounding of war
the heart once rend-ed
and lain open to the sun
will close and gather beneath moon
until sleep that soothes the troubled mind
finds its way from high night
into dreams of love,
and we step upon a way paved
with purpose, the hard road
that lifts itself unto our feet
that we feel light, easy
within self under this same light...
we become free.
s and best wishes always... ~Genie~

6 old applause
