Where Do We Belong?

What makes us belong
to where we are from?
Is it land, water, soil
from which we are formed?

What history ties us
to country, kin,
nation, land?

Are we bound to stay
confined within
the fences we have placed
across mountains,
and valleys watered
by living blood and tears?

Will we stay our hands
when anger strikes?
Or will we beat the
war drums in
cacophony and chaos,
torture, pain?

Will we use the words
of dictionaried discourse
wound around double-forked
tongues?

Or can we learn to speak
and hear what the other says?

When will we learn
that all is ours,
and not yours or mine?

© Copyright Eleanor Clark
27 January, 2013

Hope

Hope, she said
it cannot last
another dawn
of waiting,
watching
for the morn
of future bright

Spent of tears
she kneels
anguished cries
laced with
pain dripping out.
Pittance compared
to life-blood bled
millennia ago,
by Him.

Burdens are hard
to place at His feet.
Yet pride must fall
away, so that He
can heal this hurt.

©Eleanor Clark
27 January, 2013