Writing poetry. It’s like trying to change the world by throwing rose petals into the Grand Canyon. And yet some of us just can’t help ourselves. Lotta people doing it these days: blue haired ladies, hip nurses, cool men, young people. This poem was written by my nephew Michael Carter. He is not only young and entirely beautiful, but a poet taking his words seriously. I asked him for a poem on peace—this one is truly best if said aloud, with heart.
Flowers don't grow here. This is where the thunder lives, amongst the confusion of lost souls calling out to broken dreams, in hopes that one can assist the other. Where the innocent are slain for the transgression of his brother. Where a sisters eyes rain sorrows melodies, but they are only heard by the arms of her mother. The land here is barren, victim of nutrient deficient soil. Toil as we may it is just too difficult to grow here. So we wait, and pray, that one day the sun will find a way to pierce through the cracks, and release it's rays from the reins and let them rain down on us washing away our pain as we fight to grow. Flowers, grow, flowers, grow, flowers, grow. Flowers don't grow here. You must have forgotten that our roots are rotten. Sickley and twisted. Suffocated by the weeds that reside here. Where a man learns that he had only become a man after mastering the ability to hide fear. So they die here. Long before they get the chance to live. Crushed beneath the feet of the weak. But maybe, just maybe, we can resuscitate them. I will provide the food if you can provide the light. Or perhaps you could just convince the sun to pierce through the cracks, and release it's rays from the reigns, and let them rain down on us washing away our pain ad we fight to grow. Flowers, grow flowers, grow, flowers, grow. flowers don't grow here. It rains so much it drows us. Water surrounds us. We can't breath. Try as we may we can't leave. We are stuck here. Poisoned by the poison they use to poison the fools. My boys are confused my sisters need an uplifting. It's time to stop asking for change and start gifting. Quit wishing, that, one day the sun will find a way to pierce through the cracks, and release it's rays from the reigns, and let them rain down on us, washing away our pain. We need to make our flowers grow Flowers, grow, flowers, grow, flowers, grow. Flowers CAN grow here; if we nourish them, give them what they need to survive. Teach them to thrive. Provide them with the building blocks, so if the building locks...... They can build their own. It doesn't matter that the soil is riddled with stone. This is the soil that they call home. We need to prepare them, instead of impair them, provide them with the little shove in the back they need so when the sun peers through the cracks, and releases it's rays from the reigns, and lets them rain down on us washing away their pain.... They can grow. Flowers grow, flowers grow, flowers, grow, flowers will grow here