The Warrior, the Artist, the Healer and the Cop
The Warrior, the Artist, the Healer and the Cop
The blood of my ancestors
Flows strongly through four
One is my child
But there are three more.
One is the warrior
Who leans far right.
One is the artist
With visionary sight.
One is the healer
Disease to stop.
And one is my daughter,
The cop.
Each one of these is better
Than we who raised them, deserve.
They’ve survived the fires
Fanned by our lost nerve.
They’ve taken our mistakes
Transcended them all.
And then, more, or less,
Forgave us.
Somewhere in the line
Of those from before
Were brilliant, strong humans
Who opened the door
To these fine children
Who grew up un-sutured
To make the adults
Who will save our sad future.
Mediocrity may rage
And an ocean of angst
But these fine young adults
Will rise from the ranks
Hold high their individual
Strength and resolve
And each, in their own way
Their life problems solve.
We did everything wrong
But somehow they are right.
With compassion and love
Justice and second sight.
I fear my tomorrow
But when things get rough
I thank those before me
Who gave them the right stuff.
Mari Sloan
Copyright November 2010
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
