A Story Must Come

A story must come From the heart And must be carried In both hands Cupped like sacred egg In the hands of a priestess. This is my brother A rare outpour of truth I can carry his story In my hands Or pour it on your page. A painter could have it On a canvass; It could be sculpted But it must come From the heart. The story of my own brother Who was crushed by a polity That cared not for children; Whose child heart Was blasted away By conscienceless administrations. That had eaten up The children’s future A story must come From the heart. His smile could Light up the night sky A smile that made Innocence envious And little children How they flock by him This is my brother. But his name changed And the authorities will Be kept really busy. This story must come From your heart.