( never underestimate the steadfastness of Love. Forgiveness.
When all is said and done and the Lights burn low ; when the voices have died and there is nothing left to even hide, and the hands that killed, are free to go and be, or do, the same things again …
there will be the absence of peace. the beginning of crime in the tortured mind. Layers of after shock. Hate is a cruel
mate to bed with. When it is his turn to be stilled, the memory will return
images of battering skins and the sounds of bone on stone :
May you remember, know the prayer in their face as they died,Father forgive, they do not know what they are doing…”
May the potence of that reach you, redeem your lost time.
I am the crookn mile,the moving river the setting sky, the gull, the wave , shore, sand , sea and some of those and a little of trees, when the wind sifts their scent and you know ,
I am also a country. Its face and Tribe : a million smiles and years of changing styles. Changed lives. Death and Life.
Fields and filled harvest. Emptied wells and growing eyes. All of these. Somehow, like trees, planted by streams of Living