When?

When men become more gentle and the forests live in peace;

When will it come, when will it start, when will the violence cease.

We’re like a tribe that’s lost it land, a species lost it’s place.

What will be in the future of this long-lost human race.

The future’s not in the present, our future’s in our past;

It dwells in the way things were – what we’re destroying fast.

We have no ears to listen, no thought to what we say;

but we’re so sure that we are right we see no other way.

Their voices call out daily; their offered hand is free

we simply need to reach out and accept what now must be.

About a foolhardy florilegium

Nullius addictus iurare in verba magistri, quo me cumque rapit tempestas, deferor hospes.
This entry was posted in First Nations, Gaia, Gender, Life, Love, Peace, Politics, Spirit. Bookmark the permalink.

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