Mother your house
Will be empty soon.
Mother your husband
Is gone.
Mother your dogs
Now run wild.
Mother your kids
Will not sleep until dawn.

Mother your shadow
Is weeping.
Mother your shades
Have been drawn.
Mother your bed's
Not been made in ten years.
Mother you stand
In the sun and you yawn.

a heart made of stone
never will know
the freedom love holds

never at rest
the living dead
where a heart is kept

tight in the grip
dark in the chest
thoughts in the head

it must soften up
a heart made of stone
if it's ever to know love

this day
we come together
we congregate
we stand together
from different nations
we gather, in this place
to mourn, to weep
to say, to pray for no more
no more the innocent.....
we this congregation
made from different
colours, different races
different religions and creeds
stand in quiet hope and grace
trying together to put in place
an understanding, that leaves
no man, woman  or child
thinking that the death
of another person,
is a valid way to make
a political or religious statement

we stand together and weep
and pray for all those who have
become or have been made pawns
to this style of rhetoric...

this bird
sings loud
and  joyous

unaware of gilded bars
they joy is in the song
not the space of singing

this bird is a big voice
in a little world
of another's making

once so such a goal ultimate had
a temporal design a lust
had three score frames a rhyme at each pause
made sense if not had timing down to
syncopathy right on
came around from a saneness start
to an anticipated foreshadowed ending
made sense when on the first perusal
no need to read ten times and still be
confused
but then
new
like
the birth of pointilism
became a dot
a new thing I thought of
had to do
make something no one else
had not too
in the  end when not is compared to too
the differences make none
or few