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
I am holding out hope for soon, very soon … gazing at the stars without fear and anxiety.
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I do hope so🤞🏼
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