Point, hold, dream

Poem

These hands were made for pointing
pointing to stars, and asking
these eyes were made for pointing
pointing to skies, and basking

in the answers 
on the questions
to the thoughts
of sight, sound, and taste

such as
why send young lives 
to the slaughter?
there’s still stars
to gaze
- it’s such a waste 

these hands were made for holding 
holding baby, bright and pure 
these hopes were made for holding
holding their future, safe and sure 

when hands grip steel
wear blood

eyes see murder
not love

hopes get stripped
and rubbed 
out … 

it’s time for your voice to shout
for change - for peace

for war to end
and, premature death
to cease

nights are made for dreaming
dreaming beyond hostilities  
days are made for dreaming
dreaming of possibilities.

© Darius the Mate 16-03-2022