All too often we hear stories that momentarily inspire. Tales of bravery, of what others struggled and died for in order for us to have what we take for granted today.
With that in mind i penned this poem, recalling a time when religion had to be practiced and studied in hiding. When being discovered studying these sacred texts would lead to enslavement, torture, and death.
But despite all the tales we hear, rarely does it lead to actual change in our life…. I hope you enjoy.
The Lights
It would change my life, I was sure it would, this dream that came to me,
It took me back to days long gone, a time never again to be.
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I saw him sneak, crawl, and creep his way up to the door,
The soldiers caught him, beat him, tore him, threw his body to the floor.
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They could not see, as I could, his soul begin to rise,
Too caught up in the sport they were, taking joy in the child’s demise.
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More and more they reached the door, some the childs’ fate to share,
And to the door I did approach, I knew not why, and yet I dared.
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Why bother? I asked myself, they are rogues, thieves, and nothing more,
Yet ever on did I venture closing on that secret door.
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Through the door, down the stairs, entering a tiny room,
Shining lights blinded me, cutting like blades through the gloom.
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I saw not rogues but many children, an awesome glorious sight,
All around were wide eyed youth, each smiling, basking in the light.
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The light poured forth from the tongue of one who risked his life to teach,
And in turn each word the children cried, till all heavens gates their call did breach.
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I began to cry for I knew these words I’ve seen them time and time before,
But every time and time again I simply chose them to ignore.
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Over the teacher’s voice my alarm call beckoned, drawing me from slumber so deep,
But this dream will surely change my life…starting tomorrow…for now I must sleep….
