Chill of ice-licked wind, gray fog, spluttering dust, rain to mud.
We huddle beneath forest canopy.
Smoldering logs, bread broken out, wine, fish.
The afternoon light exchanged for cool starlight.
A cross of logs and
Glimmering, unburning spikes flicker.
A moment glimpsed, remembered
When the world was given a chance again for peace.
But still I see swords, I see weapons, I see children crying for their loved ones.
Orange golden-kissed sunlight drenches sideways into soul,
Showing a green rolling land,
A land for these:
A land for those that wage not war, but peace
A land for the ones who love peace
I hear a song rolling down, a cascading chorus.
It is not a song of any one nation, claiming to have it all,
Nor a song of the powerful, reading the world through the glasses of “success”.
It is a song of the broken,
A song of the poor,
A song not excluding the rich or powerful
Yet commanding them to value it all, give it away and follow the way
Danced with steps of peace.