Hope

 

I’m looking for the killing fields,

The stranger said to me,

The ridge of stone is cold and bare,

And barren stands the tree,

I wander on a dismal plane

Mans monuments are rust,

And all his creativity,

Is vanity and dust.

 

I took him gently by the hand,

And led him to a hill,

To see the children playing there,

Quite heedless of the chill,

I took him to a quiet place,

Where humble people pray,

And when I looked into his eyes,

He turned and looked away.

 

Who are you then he said to me,

For I am death and pain,

I ever walk this earth alone,

And all its powers retain,

I turned and to the stranger said

With me mankind can cope

For I am your own brother,

And my children call me hope.