It isn’t hard to prophesy doom and galloping

gloom from an easy chair or a prison cell,

when we delight in digging into trenches

of opinions and weigh in with bombs,

while profits are purloined and people

pushed to the precipices.


‘It will all end in tears,’ trivially trips 

off tongues, and falls on the deaf eardrums 

of determined individuals who want nothing 

more than to pretend their way is perfect.


Proper prophecy is of the light that breaks 

through dark clouds and sows the hatred and 

doubt with forgiveness and love. A light that 

illuminates the darkest hour with hope.


Luminosity that binds the broken hearted

and lifts the depressed in loving arms

stills the savagest breast while holding

the cherished child in an embrace of joy.


Joy at the little things, animals, butterflies

as well as the elephants, forests and oceans,

all things that only love can liberally flow and

live in them freeing and filling, so

that their loveliness grows and grows.

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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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