Not quite four years ago, I wrote a poem. Or, rather, a poem wrote itself inside me. It happens, now and then.
Those words have been rattling around inside me for days, begging to be set free, once again. If you read on, you’ll see that they were born in another day which, sadly, isn’t as different from today as I once dreamed it might be. I’m not done, though. Dreaming. Praying. Writing. Painting. Growing signs of hope amidst the vegetables. Voting.
And hoping for the day when no one will feel the need for gun shots on the road, just behind my house, ironically known as Memorial Drive.
Grandmothers Lament
All over the world, children are crying.
Bleeding children in Syria.
Hurricane victims in Haiti.
Poisoned children in Michigan and the Dakotas and too many places to count.
All over the world, children are crying.
Children robbed of their families by racism and violence.
Children robbed of their futures by disease.
Children robbed of their health by toxins everywhere.
All over the world, children are crying.
How do we shut out their cries?
How do we not act?
Are we heartless?
All over the world, children are crying.
We who do care are helpless in many ways.
Rendered voiceless by the power of vested self interest.
The power of greed.
All over the world, children are crying.
Hungry children.
Homeless children.
Abused, molested, victimized children.
All over the world, children are crying.
It is not our own greed that renders us helpless.
At least not mostly.
And yet we shout, silently, in the face of those who love power.
All over the world, children are crying.
While the mighty grow rich waging war.
While the mighty grow rich selling power.
While the mighty grow rich killing the Earth.
All over the world, children are crying.
Let us take our fingers out of our ears.
Let us open our eyes in the light of day.
Let us shout until we cannot be ignored.
All over the world, children are crying.
Let us dare to hear.
Let us dare to hope.
Let us dare to act.
Amen. Amen. Selah.
Boardman, 2016, from Breathing Words