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.
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