Ignorant Heavens
The skies above are clear of human hate,
They don't know temples, churches, or mosque gate.
The birds that fly from branch to foreign land ,
Don't carry holy wars inside their hand.
They sing one song, a language of the wind,
Their faith is in the worms they hope to find.
No borders etched in prayer to keep them bound,
No dogma in the nesting spots they've found.
We split the earth with concepts of our soul,
Then turn on brothers, breaking every whole.
But if the sky had chosen sides to keep,
Its clouds would split, and even stars would weep.
If feathers had a colour , creed or name,
The air we breathe would surely burst to flame.
No gentle rain would nurture life from seed,
But drops of red to satisfy our greed.
A final, bloody from clouds above,
Proving our God is surely not just Love.1
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