(Children on Peace) We may have written this; our end with a bitter lament and cry, we may have lost our way back and might, like water, dive. Have we not found our way? When will our prayers fly away and bridge doubt with reflection glancing off love’s red casement? Like our love is seizing goodness and certainty fluttering gladness as if humanity were reaching out, we’ll breathe. They may bomb us with contempt and trip us with hateful limbs and turn our eyes in their deceit, we’ll breathe. Our haste might madden men with little time for truth; men of convictions set like metronomes marking off days like doom. Donning peace like housecoats we’ll breathe. Wearing hope like gas masks we’ll breathe. Wielding love like field guns we’ll breathe. We are the rainforest, the rising skies, stunning creatures with varied throats. We are the seeds of one tree, the heart of one stone, the soul of the stirring air, we’ll breathe. © 2010 by mark prime
(The Weaver's Song)