Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Free Tree

There is a hope I hope. I dream that 2004 will become a brick in the foundation that will support the man I want to become. The fallen brothers will cheer from the sidelines and help. We will run the marathon together and always think of each other, not in a way that takes but we shall give. My youth will never be restored but can be learned from. There will be another generation, one I help grow, little sapling that I can water in the ways of peace and knowledge. I want to see the sun rise over free soil, its rays nourishing a long lost dream of equality. The plants are not all the same size, but the taller fronds pass onto the lower fronds and that is how we will survive. A lake of history channels feed life and this time we will have understood what the dying were talking about, be they old and wise or young wounded and suddenly wise.
From a far away mountaintop a man shouts “The war is over,” and this time we understand. This man knows bloodshed, not detached but holds the key to empathy greater than he. No tears are shed and no people are weak, they understand that if we are to survive together a new world must be created. Religion is personal and not dictating, faith flowers in the soul and we will no longer have to prove this to the other. The children question you and you are proud of the individual, little sapling will grow. They will wonder why the old ones lived so strange and we will let them. Blue sky will speak to them the way it speaks to the passing and you hope to see one more second of it.
Little seed has grown and it listens to the ocean and is lost in the tone. The grain of sand will be all that remains of the old and insane. When we want to fight we will talk and when we want to die it will be the time that we watched tick on a clock. There was a dream that once flowed deeper than the deepest soul you have ever known. It watered the seeds and grew you and YOU must carry the pale to the shore. Garden the small things that could not survive without you, garden the small things that could not survive without you.

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