A tortuous progression of heart and mind,

A longing not known, a life unkind,

A glimpse of the truth, of blessed relief,

Yet chance slipping away, despite the belief;

… that purpose and passion should overcome,

that right is in justice and should always be done,

Oh where is the courage, the faith and the will,

Oh where is the love that will never distil.

Restore us, remind us, the fight must go on,

Make bright that purpose, keep hope ever strong,

Until that day, we near the light,

With joy and contentment, there in sight.

And when we are blessed with such good things in life,

Let us ever be mindful of that progression, that strife,

That others will suffer throughout the land,

Yet succeed in their struggle, because of our hand.

So May we Consider, the beauty, the wealth,

Of wise and good council and not thoughts of self,

In help to our brothers without thought of gain,

In the spreading of love, despite all our pain.

Do they have to wait, until too late,

Yet only see, in retrospect of me.

Why can't it be shown, that simple gain,

Is one that lasts, whilst others wain.

Why can't they stop and turn around,

and end the search for what can't be found.

Their silly games, I can not defend,

For meaningless things have meaningless end.

Why can't they see, why must they wait,

Must truth be found when it's just too late.

Can't they see that their present relief,

Is good for now but will give them grief.

Can't they see what the future will hold,

For the one who resists, for the one who is bold,

Enough to say NO, when all others say YES,

Enough to know and not need to guess,

That simple truths, you cannot bend,

In two's and three's they came , barefoot,

Those children of conflict, savaged and cut,

By lives in oppression, violence and greed

By hunger and hardship, in neglect and in need.

Yet, they sprang like gazelles, wild and free,

Contending position for the handout to be.

A loaf of bread drying with age,

A bar of chocolate, half eaten in rage,

By a soldier who witnessed, yet could not defend,

A political struggle that had this end.

Clutching their trophies, retreating in haste,

Away from the kitchen, reducing it's waste.

In every direction, across rugged roads,

Feet disappearing, small hands bearing loads.

The soldier's favourite, a boy knee high,

With collar turned up and a gleam in his eye,

Would claim best booty because of his cheek,

Yet target himself for the others to seek.

Like hounds to the fox, they stalked that boy,

Then taking his booty, removing his joy.

With tiny face sad, he'd return to the door,

Like Oliver Twist begging for more.

Replacing the item with a caring look,

The soldier found safe-passage that the little guy took

Then viewing child's progress until safely back,

To mud embankment, to filthy shack.

His thoughts returned then to impartial stance,

To task and to duty, that left no chance,

To question or act on, the rights and the wrongs,

Or lay the blame where it firmly belongs.

He gave all he could then, and now he was gone,

Away from the shores, away from the throng,

Of children in hardship of injustice in cry,

Left now with a memory, and the question still WHY.

The Sparrow shuddered in it's flight and died upon the wing,

Who was to mourn the passing of, so small and frail a thing.

Who was to mourn, I tell you this, that for a sparrow lone,

All heaven grieved, and God himself, sat silent on his throne.

Nothing matters when I'm lost,

To hopeless feeling and it's cost,

Lost in the waves of conflicted thought,

Which bear no reason and gain me nought.

Experienced passed is of scant avail,

To a struggling mind held in jail,

Trapped and weary, no path to tread,

Numbed by sorrow, yet nothing said,

For my words are foolish in this state,

They neither mend nor can relate,

The crippling feeling that is here to stay,