Poetry is the music of freedom,
a song of homecoming,
painting the wind and rain
black symbol on white
igniting color-bursts,
the sun of love.
Poetry is the lullaby in the darkest shadows
of suffering or infirmity
humming to the inner demons to quiet, calm,
as telling as
crayon outlines of children’s hands
bridging world views,
indecipherable between Israelis or Palestinians,
Muslims or Christians or Jews
ripping hearts open to release
the isolation of you – me
islands within our own skin.
Poetry travels across farmers’ green
and golden fields of harvest.
snow-capped Alps,
every ocean
as a song of humanity translating
communal truths,
allowing Mandela to survive decades of imprisonment
from re-reading Invictus,
the howling verse of despair, resiliency, and hope
resonating across continents
beyond skin color,
a timeless bonding of souls.
Poetry is
a language of salvation
circling us in songs,
paint and clay,
the clasp of hands,
a meeting ground of verses
under a new sun and moon
where it’s never too late.