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The real world is different for those born within strife,
if they are lucky they may grow to become husband or wife,
but for many, boy soldiers is what they were forced to become,
only eleven years old, but still their burden is to carry a gun.
How many live long enough to know that there are other ways,
within another country they wouldn't have been made military slaves.
Are there men with the courage to stop all the rape and slaughter,
does no one there value the lives of their son and their daughter?
We live in one world though still can remain worlds apart,
some wracked by fear and anger, some blessed with a heart.
There are no quick fixes for those slaves of bomb and gun,
they can't change overnight, they can't call on their mum.
Whole generations are destroyed by such ravaging hate,
can we blame their parents, no, the wicked ways of the state,
conflicts started in some distant past can blight generations,
driven by the blind hate between tribes, faiths or nations...
The futures of so many children lost before they were born,
just when will some chance come for a peaceful new dawn?
Be it Africa, Asia, or the Middle East where they live,
(...)
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On that hidden island where we long to be,
nestled as it is in a pure warm azure sea,
where there are no sharks to flee away from,
just young dolphins leaping out for our fun,
afore blowing bubble rings to toss around
underneath the waves that bring a pleasing sound.
The moon is never hidden on the nights it comes to shine
and rainfall will only glisten if your loving hand's in mine.
Shall we trip along the soft shore of fine bleached coral sand,
catching eight inch butterflies that seem to understand,
we'll never try to harm them or take away their food,
so they will stay contentedly, while they are in the mood
We'll sing of our great good fortune,
baritone and conch shell for trombone,
then when the music runs dry, maybe we'll shout
"There's no one home - they all went out"
And other nonsense that will maybe echo
while we never miss any nagging phone falsetto
Such dream places we could perchance still find,
An idyll that lures some corner of my mind,
(...)
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Good Dreams, Bad Dreams
Dreams drifted freely through the atmosphere,
not knowing who would reach out to hold them near,
a random spice of vivid scenes there for all to view,
I wonder which were at one time picked by you?
Good dreams we flavour with images of our own,
making them personal as if by some seamstress sewn,
embroidered with pictures from our real life past,
are those randomly inserted, or picked for the cast?
Deep in those subconscious thoughts that permeate,
our sleeping minds with moments of both love and hate,
we may have some choices that we don't usually make,
those can make us smile or trouble us enough to wake...
Dark thoughts and great terrors can be vivid indeed,
waking us in a sweat with a most desperate need,
for comfort that once our mums used to provide,
but if alone are not so easily shaken - I've tried!
(...)
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One planet, one people,
one last chance to survive,
if we don't work together now,
just how will our children thrive?
Take a fresh look at the facts,
and think hard for a while,
it makes sense to adopt peace,
so we can all eat and smile.
There's nothing hard about sharing,
we just need to put aside all the junk,
that's destined for the dustbins,
before underground it's then sunk.
Can we plant seeds over that landfill,
could we trust any crops that did grow?
No, let's go back to sturdy milk bottles,
rather than plastic ones made to throw...
©Rhumour
January 14th 2012
An Oldie I've dug out from 1974....
The End...
The voice of hate
I've heard of late
Has sunk me down in terror
A crippled ship
I drift the depths
Of navigators error
Once bathed in light
I'm now undone
Left struggling in the dark
My memory turns
To days far gone
When the voice was of a lark
(...)
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My arms will enfold you under soft candle light,
your eyes glow and sparkle as we savour this night,
a time for two people to share as they will,
with many a moment to treasure and thrill.
Two people in love will always seek out such times,
away from the world with it's nickels and dimes,
no hunger that they cannot sate in their den,
with a warming log fire and a rug just for them.
If true love was all that we ever did seek,
then the world might indeed belong to the meek,
for lovers don't wish to take power over all,
as there is only one person they wish to enthrall...
©Rhumour
January 15th 2012
