raeanha

Once upon a time, in the land of Hushabye,
Round about the wondrous days of yore.
They came across a sort of box,
bound up with chains and locked with locks,
And labeled "Kindly Do Not Touch, It's War."
A decree was issued round about all with a flourish and a shout,
and a gaily colored mascot tripping lightly on the fore,
"Don't fiddle with this deadly box, or break
the chains, or pick the locks,
And Please... don't ever play about with war."

Well, the children understood, children happen to be good,
and they were just as good around the time of yore.
They didn't try to break the chains, or pick the
locks, or break into that deadly box,
they never tried to play about with war.
Mommies didn't either, Sisters, Aunts, Grannies neither,
'cause they were quiet and sweet and pretty in those wondrous days of
yore.
Well... very much the same as now, and not the ones to blame somehow,
for opening up that deadly box of war.

But someone did... someone battered in the lid,
and spilled the insides out across the floor.
A sort of bouncy bumpy ball,
made up of guns, flags, and all the tears and
horror and death that goes with war.
It bounced right out and went bashing all about,
and bumping into everything in store.
And what was sad and most unfair is that it didn't really seem to care,
much who it bumped, or why, or what, or for.
It bumped the children mainly, and I'll tell you this quite plainly,
It bumps them everyday... and more... and more,
and leaves them dead and burned and dying, thousands of them sick and
crying,
cause when it bumps... it's really very sore.

Now there's a way to stop this ball, it isn't difficult at all,
all it takes is wisdom, wit.
I'm absolutely sure that we could get it back into the box...
and bind the chains and lock the locks.
But no one seems to want to save the children anymore.

Well, thats the way it all appears,
cause it's been bouncing round for years and years
in spite of all the wisdom wit, since those wondrous days of yore...
And the time they came across this box, bound up with chains and locked
with locks...
and labeled "Kindly Do Not Touch, It's War."

John Denver..

"I will allow only my Lord to possess
 my sacred lotus pond, &
every night, you can make
blossom in me
flowers of fire"
 

***O Huang 1498-1569***

I

THE GIFT SHOP?

? was small and quiet. Rich brocade fabric draped the windows. Pretty

gold and porcelain knick-knacks were displayed on the

walls and shelves,

accented by brightly colored, sweet smelling candles. I

found it in the

display case, next to a pair of wire framed antique

eyeglasses. It is a

small rosey pink colored velvet gift pouch. The fabric is

very soft,

falling in pretty folds and gathers wherever it sits. The

opening is drawn

tightly closed with a small braided cord. I have brought

it home and placed inside something very special to me that I have had most of my life; a single

pearl, large and luminescent, silky to the touch. It

reminds me of the

ocean. It reminds me of the person I intend to give it to

as a precious

keepsake. It reminds me of you?

II

*THE GIFT*

I imagine you receiving this gift. I can see your hands

tremble as you open

it, your eyes smiling. Gently gently your fingers pull

on the cord, opening

the pink velvet pouch I have given you. Your long

fingers probe deeply inside, curiously. When you find the pearl, hold

it in your warm hand,

rolling it between your fingers, watching the way the

light of the room

catches it, I know you will understand like no one else

can, the import of my

decision to give this small precious part of myself to

you. Your

understanding makes you more precious to me than

this small silken token.