When we’re chilled by illness or bereaved The spring tides of the seas of memory lust The mind’s door swings,the torture scene’s retrieved Children have no power and cannot leave Adults fearful,wild, and, more, are callous Caught too soon by fools and madmen’s weaves In Europe with our vicious wars' conceived Children dwelled deep in our frozen malice Dreadful memories stole their minds like thieves Are souls mature enough to learn from such deep grief When we feel like rubbish, thrown adrift, alas? When we’re struck by hardships,we still seethe. Adults have the power to look, perceive,conceive Each child is Jesus,tortured,tried, and tossed. This is the birth and death of memory My heart is pierced by children on the News. Echoes shake this heart till black and blue. Whether felled by error,war ,disease With patience , can we tolerate unease?
This is the birth and death of memory
Published
How my heart sings 
Sometimes one needs to be at our most vulnerable to ‘feel’ the vulnerability of others…. 😉 Hugs!
That is true.It can bring people closer too if we don’t conceal our grief totally,:)xx
Indeed!!! Grief shared facilitates the healing process…. Hugs! ❤
My chiropodist didn’t speak about how I looked but she gave me a prolonged hug at the door.Really felt good to share it non-verbally.:)xx
Indeed. You might reflect on the therapeutic value of ventilating your feelings. 🙂
I felt I could show them in my face and expression instead of concealing them. to protect others from suffering…:)
Healing often happens more effectively in the ‘process of self-ventilation’. 😉 Hugs!
I’ve done a lot of that too!!!
Excellent truth
Thank you so much.