You were born pure
Don’t listen any more
To what they say
You were born secure
It’s there beneath the stuff
They tried to overlay

They didn’t mean it
They were stressed
They were in a mess
And wouldn’t take the help
That anyone suggested
You took the brunt
And your self-worth was molested

But
You are not stupid
You are not lazy
You are not wicked
You are not to blame
You are none of those things
Your Mother said you were
As she hid the bottle
But not her pain

You are not insolent
You are not ugly
You are not knowingly
The one who tells lies

You are wise
Beautiful
Caring
Suitable
For any situation
And you will grow to know
Your elevation.

There in the city centre you see them
Big men cast of metal
Or carved out of stone
Blokes in cloaks
Stern looking furrowed brow
Brandishing a flag, a gun or a sword
Often on a massive horse
Pushing forward without remorse
A celebration of the individuals
Who made us what we are
But it’s an old show of lies
For we made us what we are
As we continue so to do
And we must see through it
To see our journey through

There is a tendency to accept
What is handed down
And imagery has power
But please, not over you
This is a late hour
Where everything that has gone before
Cannot make the transition
Without your permission

And you don’t need
A cloak, a flag, a sword, a club
An axe, a spear, a machete, a knife
A gun, a rifle, a bomb, a mine
A submarine, a torpedo, a tank
A shell, a bomb, a plane
A drone, a blitz, a vile missile
Or anything that blows to bits
Nor does your transition need a horse
But you do need goodness
Love, truth and wisdom of course

This is a late hour
Where everything that has gone before
Cannot make the transition
Without your permission
And that is what you
And this hour are for.

No Condos in the City of the Dead

You Can’t Say It’s Not There 

We Are The Poetry/Utilise the Universal

Your Elevation/Blokes in Cloaks

Theme: The Afterlife