Is it too much to ask--

for love

to live?

Hands hold hands, waiting to run

from the grip of fear--

Faces fade to gray against 

the colors of the heart's life--

No pulse--

only the still.

No tears

only a still face,

their eyes set in stone, the eyes tell all

but all will be well... and all is not well

We will make it, we can be strong...

but hope is thrown to the side of a dream built for the few--

We saw a finch in flight, with change upon its wings...

be broken

and bruised

by a bell rung in fury... for freedom-- 

The lyre held in the blood-soaked arms of the ignorant,

they play--

on and on

and leave Us to burn

and bullet by bullet, we are broken and blamed--

And for each gunshot, another excuse, another dismissal, another song strummed 

on the strings of the ego.

This is the call for the revolution

of love--

This is Our Time, 

not the time of the cold and hateful

hate has no place in the house of hope--

Is it too much to ask?