Peace Is

yellow pollen

Peace is pollen, miniscule seed

That roots in mindful soil; it breeds

Where thoughts are harboured, captured by

A mind that chooses what supply

To water, weed, and tend with care,

And which to deny access there.

After thoughts which harm are routed

Peaceful seeds can then be sprouted;

Global gardens introspected

Are the places peace perfected.

Peace begins within – before hatred can grow and germinate, it must be thought, considered, ingested into the soul. As our hearts move toward those in Paris and Beirut who have suffered at the hands of hatred, I must ask – How does your garden grow?

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In the Garden

Prairie blue eyes HDR

 

Hatred breeds where darkness obscures

the beauty attached to cells

which split and divide with remarkable similarity;

every heart bleeds blood.

Every soul’s veins mark its skin in tattoos inked with life.

To decide that one of the Earth’s peoples should be obliterated

is to nominate one flower for destruction.

Would you choose the rose? Or the sweet pea?

Which deserves death?

What reasons could justify the removal

of one shade in the spectrum,

 pure Light knit whole?

Colours, textures, scents, flavours –

the loss of but one is to deny the rainbow its arc,

the garden its splendour.

What great catastrophe will be required to cut away the cataracts

 that blind us to our collective dignity?

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My heart is heavy as I consider some of the newsfeed I have read this morning. Will we never learn that hatred is ugly? That violence is evil? That each of us has a place in the Global Garden? What legacy will we leave to our children if we cannot learn to love our neighbours?

Burned Bridges

cosmos brittle

She smiles – but, life having burned the bridge of her nose,

it no longer has a means to travel from her lips to her eyes.

“I hate him,” she says,

in the same tone she used to order her decaf latte,

taking a sip

and trying not to spill

on the perfectly white tablecloth.