There was a time
when our laughter scaled those hills
that our little feet couldn't reach.
For we were giants of ambition
with senses tuned to wonder,
cosmic hosts to a million personas
dancing free beneath
a confluence of sun and skin.
I remember those afternoons,
streaming through the canopy,
When David wove the clouds
into pillows for our thoughts and
I made a bed of Pa's endless lap,
our bellies full of ma's magic
as she sang of home.
No strangers to the tragic,
our tempers swelled and thundered
and tears in torrents did come,
But we were innocent still,
smiling by morning
after every bitter pill.
But there were no signs of warning
as our skin and bones stretched
and the lottery of life unravelled.
We found our hearts heavy
with an inheritance of woe
and our eyes came to find shackles
where they were none before.
And after years in a neon haze, I've come to see,
my pulse surrendered to machinery,
The monetization of our dreams
into a cold network of revenue streams,
Depleted wells of compassion
amid deep unconscious self-obsession,
Where our eyes are trained to difference,
Where war is a righteous path
and the earth a mere limitation.
As only the lure of distant stars will satiate.
this estranging hunger.
And I yet ask myself, if we are innocent still?
For is there not beyond the shadows
of our being, a glistening spark?
Persisting in our child's eye,
Still playful and loving, longing
only for the thread
to weave a fabric of hope
that all hearts can touch.
And tonight I wonder
If there will be a time once more,
when our laughter scales those hills
that our little feet couldn't reach
and sing as ma did, of home...