Resurrection of the People

The water from my eyes makes it difficult to see the future, blurring the present with the past. This past has created the path for my eyes to follow. Stories told of anger with pain, tales of separation with secrets. Betrayal, a condition of enlightenment or civilization. All is not lost, forgotten or forgiven. Stories remind us of tears shed while anger reddened the eyes. Strong and silent were the survivors, twisted and loud were the traitors, weak and confused were the casualties. But all became the victims. Remembering the past to ensure the future. Lessons learnt through sacrifice, tales become the visions for our youth, as a baby cries out a legend. Its’ screams are heard by all the people, the child’s tears are not wiped away, for they carry hopes and dreams. They are harvested to water the seeds of change, mixing with the sweat of determination, life can now grow once again. The infancy of a soul now grows toward maturity of the mind. Teachings held dormant spread like a wild dance set forward by musical voices of inspiration. Many children are born with scars of the past, yet heal their parents with visions of the new dawn. Even now the ripple of inspiration flows from the rebirth stone, cast into the lake of the people. The glare of spirits awakened rise to greet the new sky, where there is no shame and no hidden agenda. But only minds gazing unto the dusk of despair. The people are healing…