Living in makeshift tents that dotted the harsh, dry and rocky landscape
Romantic visions of nomadic tribes settled on the land with only campfires
The innocent moon and stars to light up the evening skies
The golden sun in early morning shines to you the naked reality
Children walking around with unwashed faces and matted hair
Dressed in tattered clothes and going without cereal or bread for breakfast
Cries of hungry babies can be heard in the early morning
Dried up breasts with little milk and dirty water from the collect pools of water,
the satiate their hunger
Adults with their lust for power, money, dominance over their own kind,
wage wars in the name of god
Children are never asked to be born cried to the heavens above in their little hearts
The only replies they get are the caws of the blackbirds,
the silent twinkle of the stars and sometimes the howls of the wolves in the night
How do children become adults to carry on this incessant quest?
The first of the winter rains turned the camp into a muddy sty, what a miserable Eden
After the rain stops, you can see the children playing with sticks in the mud
and the flies follow them where ever they go
Oblivious to all around them and not knowing any better
Sudden shouts and alarms ring out in the night and a great sense of panic is in the air
All the adults and teens, quickly pack some of their clothes,
guns and ammo with little or no food and flee to the hill beyond.
Only the elderly women, children and crying babies are left and
you can hear the cracks of gun fires and some explosions drawing closer to the camp.
Toddlers and tiaras,
iPads and iPods,
Facebook and Twitter.
Summer homes and vacations.
Ocean cruises and Porsches.
Calvin Kline and Christian Dior.
Pension and retirement plans.
Is this the meaning of this life and what hopes and freedom are made of?
Let me return to the earth below my feet and let this dream end.
If there is a soul and spirit then set them free from this Eden without God.