Post by grouchmuffin on Jul 14, 2005 2:00:24 GMT -5
Not sure what to call this...and did not intend it to be a political piece. Actually is was a nature piece in the beginning...because of the midwest drought. Please be gentle on the politics, but feel free to critique the writing!
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Regard me as an ancient one, gone a little soft in the mind, if you must. But I assure you that although plenty of rain fell during the sunshine of my youth, life was much simpler then.
I played hide-and-seek with the mist on dappled gray mornings. Friends and family gathered in masses and we danced until dawn with wood nymphs. Fairies rested on morning glories, which closed to slumber them in the heat of the day.
We made our homes by babbling brooks and ponds ripe with life. No one had to stretch their resources so far just for basic nourishment. When our family or any other family fell on hard times, the entire community surrounded them with love. With strength. With life.
Now look at us. The ravages of war have stripped us of our youth. They suffer, limbs torn, lives lost. And for what end?
We have scattered for safety, colonizing only where we feel safe. Where iron hands have not dared to part the earth, and human voice has never shouted. The irony is…we are not safe. Whatever disasters have evaded us, will surely sneak up behind us until we are no more.
Still, I cling fervently to the notion that all are born free. I cling more fervently still to hope. This is because I remember…
I shall teach you the ancient songs, Little One. Pass them on to your offspring. I shall recite the teachings, the stories of hope and life and humanity…until the day I die.
You think we are in a desert village in the middle east? Quite the contrary. We are in North America, your shining son.
Did you think me to be a poor villager, on the outskirts of war torn political propaganda? Open your eyes. Abre los ojos. I am in your back yard. I am the tree, who feels your sorrow. Who weeps with you as your sons and daughters die abroad. For I have felt the terror, the loss of my own children to urbanization. And I can sing the song of the mother’s cry.
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Regard me as an ancient one, gone a little soft in the mind, if you must. But I assure you that although plenty of rain fell during the sunshine of my youth, life was much simpler then.
I played hide-and-seek with the mist on dappled gray mornings. Friends and family gathered in masses and we danced until dawn with wood nymphs. Fairies rested on morning glories, which closed to slumber them in the heat of the day.
We made our homes by babbling brooks and ponds ripe with life. No one had to stretch their resources so far just for basic nourishment. When our family or any other family fell on hard times, the entire community surrounded them with love. With strength. With life.
Now look at us. The ravages of war have stripped us of our youth. They suffer, limbs torn, lives lost. And for what end?
We have scattered for safety, colonizing only where we feel safe. Where iron hands have not dared to part the earth, and human voice has never shouted. The irony is…we are not safe. Whatever disasters have evaded us, will surely sneak up behind us until we are no more.
Still, I cling fervently to the notion that all are born free. I cling more fervently still to hope. This is because I remember…
I shall teach you the ancient songs, Little One. Pass them on to your offspring. I shall recite the teachings, the stories of hope and life and humanity…until the day I die.
You think we are in a desert village in the middle east? Quite the contrary. We are in North America, your shining son.
Did you think me to be a poor villager, on the outskirts of war torn political propaganda? Open your eyes. Abre los ojos. I am in your back yard. I am the tree, who feels your sorrow. Who weeps with you as your sons and daughters die abroad. For I have felt the terror, the loss of my own children to urbanization. And I can sing the song of the mother’s cry.
I was nervous posting it because of the political content...but it is a piece close to my heart. I have a little tweaking I want to do to it, and I think it's what I'll read at open mic Sunday. Love to you all this weekend!
Methinks I have too many projects going on all at once right now!! Happy Weekend, love grouch (who just got home from the Harry Potter party at Borders...Lil Grouch dressed up as a dementor!)
(Our event also made the front page of the Arts section in the newspaper yesterday. If you get the paper, my daughter is pictured singing-she's wearing a blue tee.)
