Our Healing Is At Hand

There is no right or wrong way to speak truth...
for truth is it's own poet, it's own storyteller...
So many voices, so many languages...
all rising up on high to speak...
truth.
Perspectives shared, brought together like so many patterns
on a patchwork quilt.
Colors so vivid, so vibrant their hues, only the eyes of the soul
can bear gaze upon it.
Songs, oh the songs!
They all rise and fall with a beat so old as to go back to a time before time...
existed.
They call forth a dance only the Spirit can know.
They call forth from memories buried deep inside the blessed depths of all Humanity.
Lay down your arms, set aside your hate, I beg thee to a world that won't listen.
The People are lost within a crazed, infectious swirl of foolishness.
Lies have blinded, deafened, deadened the souls of so many.
But...there are no right or wrong ways to speak truth...
I say this again and again.
First thru a hushed voice, timid in my new found resolve to speak.
I raise my voice and note a resonance, as tho' I am joining the voices of many-
many from the world over.
I draw from this realized sense, a sense far beyond that of bravery.
I know that the truth I seek, the truth of which I speak will be spoken
from places on high, from places down low.
Colors and songs will ribbon these words and
Spirits will raise their once downcast eyes.
I will call out the People,
lay down your arms, set aside your hate,
for Truth has come back for us and our healing...
oh yes...our healing is at hand.