Mama Lisa ~ Philip Brent Harris
The wizened sage entered, sat upon the ground,
those whose history he recalled gathered around.
An elder solemnly lighted the sacred torch afire.
The sage told their tale; that all might still expire.
An old women took his place, sang a simple song
told life’s love, loss, joy, sorrow, hope to prolong.
She told them their safety was the ability to hide
in a secret canyon, where peaceful people abide.
Then, a young man stood, raised his voice aloud
and the others listened silently; all were allowed.
Cried cursed fools since they shunned the world.
He’d grown up among them, never heard a word.
They told him of hate and war, the damage done,
of the pandemic which had felled most everyone.
How they’d found this refuge and waited to die,
had survived somehow, unsure the reason why.
What they had not told the eager lad or anyone
was how the sanctuary might be reached, none.
Except the future lore keepers, chosen in youth,
entrusted with all their sacred knowledge, truth,
so that they’ll pass along their history, o’er time
in hope that humans may again make the climb.
Till that time they chose a girl and boy to stand,
to know and share the story as woman and man.
If history’s kept by many, it will become distorted
sometimes with intention, or by some, misquoted.
One tells this tale one tells that, so they disagree,
Because we change our stories in our memories.
We’d appear more important, central to the story,
though, we only witnessed; we want all the glory.
Until harsh or misheard words turn to argument
that stretches, angry silence past the firmament.
Peace is Purpose, Nonviolence is Strength, Diversity is Unity, Empathy is Empowerment
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