Muted Whispers

Muted shouts augmented to whispers
As the relentless patriot strives for truth.

Signs and postings shredded to pieces
As the government looks down in wonder.

The child-bearing mother fears the life her unborn will endure
Yet jumps into the protest, in hope

The hard-working father detests the hypocrisy of it all
Yet dives into the thick of that which he hates

And I rest on the other side of the world,
Waiting.
Watching.
Listening.

Predicting that the outcome will remove all hope
All balance
The walls of “democracy” will be torn down,
Demolished.

That which cages will be longed for by those who annihilated it
And the land of our fathers will continue into corruption
And the whispers will dissipate into their blood.

Clarity

A thin film of dust and grime cover the windows to the Holy place
Smiles sifting through to specific sources, attempting to acquire their attention
But the attempt is forged, unwilling to yield to minute change
The film mounts daily, creating the barrier so ill-advised
brick-like material forming over warm, rushing pain

She looks in from the fresh outdoors, smelling fine oak and pine
but seeing only yellow eyes glaring back at her.
More filth is thrown at the window from the inside
blocking out those who dare to peek inside
those who dare question the workings of this mysterious place.

He comforts her, showing her that He lives in more places than just the one
where the light is brighter, the windows are cleaner
the smiles are genuine.

She looks up and wonders,
the possibilities of truth
the possibilities of joy, peace, understanding
attributes hardly attained, though so thoroughly searched for

Tears are shed over a lost home, burnt down by the ego and envy
But renewed by the everlasting knowledge that more lies beyond
the unconditional love that awaits its return
the clarity that breaks through the night