I feel as though the horror and violence 

waging wars around make no sense.

——

How can we believe its right today

to hurt a child or blast them away?

——

Where is the sense or rationale?

It’s archaic, cruel, a foul bad tale.

—–

Is there a place where children play?

A timeless point, a safe place I pray.

—

Kneeling I cry to a God of sad sorrow,

who lost a son and wept for tomorrow

—

when love ascends and vile hate dies,

and the humble are the ones to prize.

—–

Somewhere, surely, there’s another room,

so close like a wee babe curled in a womb.

——-

A home of peace and loving sanctuary,

a place that’s real with no adversary.