The birdsong is in perfect pitch.
Love is the core survivor,
listen, love, laugh now;
sort it out later.
Bombings and hate,
fear and foreboding,
value judgements on cleanliness and skin.
Your body is not who you are, yet it is all you are.
Privilege prickles the soul;
idols of power, possessions.
You know the secrets, let them pour over you.
Make art with washes of words.
To the gods we are one,
both sides of the fence;
we are killing ourselves and humanity loses her humanness.
See the eyes of the children and weep.
The rain clouds part, catch a vision of light.
What if your promised land is another's hell?
If it's not heaven for all, it's not heaven for any.
Open your eyes, the God of love does not ordain annihilation.
The angels despair at what we have become.
Your fist tightly grasping our desired end is a fist of violence.
Open your hand and let the light reach down.
The God of hope offers life to all.
© Christine Salkin Davis, 2018