I cannot blame my Father,
For the vile things his heart did.

To hate is so simple,
What's difficult is to forgive.

She was not grand
As is the Green’s great oak,
Nor rare,
Her kin dot the land in modest abundance,
In her position lay her magic
Dozing quiet on the edge of hallowed ground
Canopy politely shading the walled path,
How many feet passed under her boughs?
And how many small hands, under autumn’s dappled sunshine
Did joyfully plunder her mahogany treasures?
A rite of passage for several generations,
Making the journey to and from learning just a little sweeter
And now she is gone
The hole she leaves greater than the space she took
So perhaps, grand she was, after all.

who shall answer for us
and what will be the meaning
our deeds, our lapses, and
our should haves too
it has come upon us,
like a great beast
our cities overthrown and
our temples destroyed
thousands die by famine, by sword
and our indifference
the water thick with crude oil and blood
and i saw the beast rising
amid the wreckage wrought
i saw the fire and the smoke
drifting, this way, and that
the pain, sorrow, disbelief
and what shall they say of us
no more than this
it is necessary to hate
those whom we must ****
to live we must conquer incessantly,
we must have the courage to be happy
compassion must replace fear
that is the fight worthy
of the straight gate and wide way
go into without threat
see the beast wounded
lay down and weep