Evil descended that horrific day
The hate-filled miasma had a purpose
It chose its puppets well.
They proclaimed themselves The Destroyers
And they came forth wreaking havoc,
Cold purpose in their eyes, a malignant agenda in their hearts.
And the evil spoke to them, choosing the brightest and the loveliest of souls for victims.
They proclaimed themselves the future, the voice of tomorrow,
making its vicious mark upon the world.
Amongst the cacophony of violence, cries of despair and agony
were uttered
Thoughts of "why" reverberated everywhere.
Buddha, Ghandi, Martin Luther King, Jesus, is it all for nothing?
And the evil sat back and softly laughed, thinking it had won.
So sure and smug hate would be fought with hate
But the evil made a grave underestimation that day.
The voices rang out loud and true:

"You are not the voice of our age."
"We denounce you as cowards, not destroyers as you claimed."
"We do not understand, but will make something positive of
this tragedy!"
"We choose love not senseless violence."
"We say, NO MORE!"

Rest in peace beautiful souls.

The weary traveler stopped at the fork in the road.
Confused and torn as to which way she should go.

    'Should I stay or should I go?'

Turning around and going back was certainly no option.
But a decision soon needed to be made.

    'Should I stay or should I go?'

Remaining would be nice, familiar and comfortable.
Going would be frightening, but yet challenging.

    'Should I stay or should I go?'

The ticking of the clock could be audibly heard.
Settling for complacency or experiencing the adventure.

    'Should I stay or should I go?

The gardener placed the precious seedling
in the carefully tilled ground.

She stepped back to view her work
and was very proud of what she had done.

She tended her little seedling with love
and it thrived and grew.

She protected it from the harsh elements as
best she could and the seedling became a sapling.

She continued to care for the sapling
and with the passing of time it had become a strong oak.

The gardener had not noticed how the years
just rolled by and was now amazed at what she saw.

She gazed up at the tree, remembering when
it had been just a small seedling.

And the wind softly rustled the leaves
of the mighty oak.

Leaves whispering, 'thank you, I will survive'
and the gardener wiped a tear and smiled.

Baby Talk

Love you, my precious boy!
  Love you too, Mommy!

Poems:  Copyright © Ladykat 1999.  All rights reserved.

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