Under the chestnut tree

 

Under the Chestnut Tree

The fabric of humanity has been stained.
It smells like poverty of empathy
where dreams die,
and fear and foe
dwell in the dark dimensions
of the domain of dictators,
where drums beat to power and greed.

I kneel in a place
longing to find truth
in a world
hardened by fear
my heart,
wrapped in a layer of lament.
built into a barricade
to resist the darkness.

I sit under a chestnut tree.
Just be.
Come sit with me.
What we need is peace
to pierce our hearts,
and love
will be the blanket
that gives us warmth
beneath the rustling leaves.