Central Village #2

You do not know still my Nazareth Nor what good thing too, from there did come Paint not its poverty with regret Nor hold to it her life for ransom In the pangs of pain the pearl is made Beauty from the grit of nagging sand Central Village is my oyster laid Where the sugarcane wade green the land And there the fishers come full of greed And the reef grows pale, and children cry And guns bark like dogs revealing need And then they divide them so they die Man apart from man withering trust Houses and dreams to shambles fallen A city's civil hope in disgust Strewn like waste paper where streets darken And from the litany of their fear The inner bleeding of their old wounds Some discomfort may to us appear Contentment, purpose, or crazy loons But open this oyster, see the gem The beauty of her stones from soft tears The brightness of my proud diadem The resilience for which love cheers O Central Village, my little hope The fervent garden of my prayer Oyster's metaphor, character's trope The tree that yields my seed desire Memory wanders in dust again Through your evening its dream to reclaim Jesus came to Nazareth, not in vain He blessed the bride, and I'm not the same.