They Love Their Children Too
The trickle became a flood
Over shallow desert waters
Where depth is enough for a picture
But not a new life
For in the migration
To a better place for their children
What once was a sign of man's freedom
Is now a legend glorified only by those who won
Where are the gentle voices?
Where is soft change without malice to one another?
We go back in time to find the root of our desires
But all that was written was so little
And what was actually said and done
Was so much
And therein lies the truth
But has the truth become lies?
The poor live as do free-tails scattered by hawks
Carrying their home on their backs
But their heart remains not in passing
But in longing
For a place where we can see them from the inside
Where desperation lives
And not in the calm of their dignified countenances
For the root of their travels is the same as our fears
On one final afternoon
Or was it just the next one?
They watched as it passed
The bread and the cup
And they believed in peace
But knowing they would die for a confused nation if asked
A nation unable to decide if they were to be cared for
Or just sent away
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