An Ode To the Children of Syria by D.L.McHale


Image“For Justice all, or none to have,
half-measures will not matter
Beneath the sword of Damocles
our heads upon a platter
We fight so that the future sees
our chains, slave-forged, now shattered.
We’ve offered up our innocence,
ascending heaven’s ladder.”

The price of freedom comes not cheap
It’s why the village women weep
Sweet daughters and their native sons
Lie dead beneath the setting sun

Old age will never call their names
Nor will they play their childhood games
They gave their lives that we might live
No greater gift could children give.

For Allah gathers to His chest
The angels here we lay to rest
He carries forth into darkest night
These stars to hang that shine so bright

As painful as this fight may be
It now comes back to you and me
We have no children left to pay
The price demanded of this day

Oh, Sweet Liberty, our hearts succumb
To the constant beat of Freedom’s drum
With swords drawn high we heed the call
In battles pitched we give our all

Yet still we fear the sting of death
The drawing of our final breath
Immortalize our children’s names
Within a hot and forging flame

 

 

Our Story


Death in Syria, collapse in Greece,
fires in Colorado, famine in the Sudan,
tornados in Missouri; murder in Norway:
the list is endless.

Where are the uplifting stories?
Where are the tales of human heroism
that lift us beyond our everyday blues ,
the stories that reveal the true range
of human experience?

Are we the shackled prisoners of a media
obsessed with the belief that the only thing
that sells is grief and despair?

To overcome evil, we must be vigilant
about the abuses we humans bestow upon one another,
and stalwart against the forces of nature.

We cannot stick our head in a bucket of flowers
and hope that things get better.

We need inspiration.

We need stories of triumph and victory.

We need to imagine and create.

Our imagination is a book of inspiration;
On its pages are found the stories of shared love,
creativity, hope, and universal promise.

Ours is the story of lives imperceptibly bound.

Where then is our hope?

It is found in our children, our future,
a new generation moving out into
and experiencing their worlds.

It is found in the creative outpouring of strangers
ever reminding us that the true nature of humanity
is to seek higher ground and to share with one another
the voice of our inner genius.

It is found in the artistic,

the storytellers,

and the spiritual.

The stories that diminish us will one day
be supplanted by those that lift us up.,
for ours is a story of the capacity to love,
to overcome,
and we shall, as one,
persevere.