Pixie Stick ~ Philip Brent Harris
All poems are poems for children,
Whatever we think they’re about.
Children all are born to be poets,
Dream alive a mother’s heartbeat.
Until they’re lost to ones, naughts.
Percussive, staccato rhythms that
Write verse about shoulds, oughts,
Starve us with the feckless bounty,
Our personal flickering blue idols.
We, who write, write poems or try,
Dream we write meaningful words
Which change the color of the sky.
Do we miss the point; we must try?
We, and our children, we read and
Write in order to learn the rhythms
Which light the stars, hold the dark
Of day and night, of earth and sky,
Seeking mirrors for all our hearts.
Till we finally grasp, fast or slow,
All hearts beat the same pattern.
We realize we have more room to
Feel, to fill each letter, word, line
Verse in the love of each moment.
If it is your moment, my moment,
Near or far, the past or the future
Will never matter, for all will know
Each moment; until we know why.
Peace is Purpose, Nonviolence is Strength, Diversity is Unity, Empathy is Empowerment
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