History

Dear God,

 

What is your first thought when you see someone charged with a hideous crime? Do you cry? I often, first, imagine them as a small child. Young children are never deemed criminals; they don't wish horrible acts upon another. So, where does it begin?

 

A prick, darkness seeps beneath their skin. Like a drug, injecting poison into veins, it begins the ravenous climb toward the heart. As it infects the mind, all memory of a child disappears and blindness to all paths ceases escape. False comfort temporarily accomplished. Who was it? And, what crime did they implant to rid such innocence? Gluttonous circumstance conceals the heart of all light. What was your plan for this child at birth? Does it sadden you to see it unfulfilled?

 

My thoughts then conjure the wonderful acts their unbound hands mold. All negativity ignited with newness. I love to imagine the world bathed in this light, what a world it would be! All energy wasted to conjure hate instead fuels progress. Is this a decision one can make in ignorance? How is one to see light in a room with no windows? No doors?

 

Do we have any control over the paths paved before our infant steps? And, if not, how do we see beyond the ones we must learn to walk among? Is it possible for us to, upon traveling amid darkness, illuminate the course of our future? Another's? The world?

Dear History, 

You are such a fickle thing.

Standing firm in books

and songs you like to sing.

 

Circumstance forms sores,

with strength you hold,

never allow healing,

newness to unfold.

 

Bathed in religion,

wounds do fester,

you blindly pass forth

to each ancestor.

 

Saturated in colors, 

what you deem fit,

justified by society's

long ago permit.

 

Blind judgment forced

by acts another did;

look through clear eyes,

wounds in Me are rid.

 

You ask,

how can recovery

this hate ever betray?

You possess the power to

engrave the future!

Start with today!

 

Illuminate darkened past, 

mend wounds you did chew;

it is only then all

can begin anew.

 

It starts with one word, 

progress from one to a stranger;

a child's wounds

cleansed by a new behavior.

 

You ask,

My plans for all children

on this earth?

Write this: 

'Simply ask,

and I will provide new birth.

I weep when you scream,

I weep when you cry,

I weep when you ache,

I weep when you lie.'

 

Listen, My dear children,

I've known you all.

I will never give up!

Your name,

I forever will call. 

-God

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