I feel as though the horror and violence
waging wars around make no sense.
How can we believe its right today
to hurt a child or blast them away?
Where is the sense or rationale?
It’s archaic, cruel, a foul bad tale.
Is there a place where children play?
A timeless point, a safe place I pray.
Kneeling I cry to a God of sad sorrow,
who lost a son and wept for tomorrow
when love ascends and vile hate dies,
and the humble are the ones to prize.
Somewhere, surely, there’s another room,
so close like a wee babe curled in a womb.
A home of peace and loving sanctuary,
a place that’s real with no adversary.