Ancient stories tell truths

but modern ones lies.

Are we called to hear

but not to question?

each of us thrilled to

the sound of hope

to be dashed by

a creed of half starved

children in containers

in our streets.


Sweet innocence sold

for an ideology

forced upon us

by men and women

who have no idea

of hungry bellies

and filthy water,

of scant scraps that

more than filled

shrunken stomachs.


Is it always the way

that those with a voice

still the waves of their

storms , pushing the raging

rollers into another’s path?

Resting back replete,

depleting choices

in the pursuance of power.

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margins are a great place sometimes because it is where change happens fastest but it is also a horrible place when we are stuck in them and grace is the moment when we can see that someone cares.

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