Member Poem

The flowers grow. They bloom.

I see them out the window.

Walking down the street I see them

Everything around me is pain

The war rages on, with no end in sight

Why are people cruel?

Can there be a better world?

One where we helped one another

Instead of hurting

Built things

Instead of tearing them down

That shall be my goal

I shall be a healer, a poet

One who wipes away tears

But still, I am not strong enough

To stand against this evil

To fight

The flowers grow. They bloom.

Pluck them, cut them down

They come back

The flowers do not die

The evil crushes like an iron fist

People suffer and die

The world goes on

Like they do not matter

Hurts too much to care

So we don't

The flowers grow in cracks in sidewalks

Boldly they resist the forces of civilization

And people call them weeds

Try to kill them

But they always come back

Like a sign of hope they are

And when I can no longer bear the weight of the world

I think of the flowers

And I have hope.