Listen to the voice
that tells of leaves
that never fall,
of moonlight
that sings of love
it knows we carry
in a wallet,
filled with coins
of kisses, and dollars
folded in hearts,
to remind that
not every being
carries hate,
that dreams are blankets
heavy with peace.

Speak louder voice-
in the din of bullets,
it's hard to hear
that someone walks
quietly and lives to serve
under this jungle's canopy
of religions too anxious
for power to listen
to the cries in the night,
that we need a sign
from a God who seems
detached from His garden,
and depends now on appointed
agents, long grown stale
with repetitive words.

07/06/2003

Posted on 07/06/2003
Copyright © 2026 Jane E Pearce