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…
Copyright © Joel Tyndall | Year Posted 2009
|