The Mind's Door Swings

When we’re chilled by illness or bereaved The spring tides of the seas of memory lust The mind’s door swings, the torture scene’s retrieved Children have no power and cannot leave Adults fearful,wild, and, more, callous Caught too soon by fools and madmen’s weaves In Europe where our vicious wars ' conceived Children dwelled in depths of frozen malice And dreadful memories stole their minds like thieves Are souls mature enough to learn from such deep grief When we feel like rubbish, thrown adrift, alas? When we’re struck by hardships , we still seethe. Adults have the power to look, perceive,conceive Each child is Jesus,tortured,tried, and tossed. This is the birth and death of memory My heart is pierced by children on the News. Echoes shake this heart till black and blue. Whether felled by error,war ,disease With patience , can we tolerate unease?