The weapons of our warfare are not physical
sharpening swords with the stone of anger
only leads to blood on our hands, desperate.
Some though walk the darkest paths,
alone trekking through the forest of grey rain
grabbing for the light, hand muscles
a stronghold without expectations,
artful practicing of love, extending forgiveness
yet not stumbling into the dark, never
listening to the mocking of crows
suffering but at least attempting
to believe they can do it.
These are the strongest,
they will always be
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, ancient skies
Peace and blessings to everyone.
“When we love people, we give them hope.”