From Shaman’s Circle, 1996, by Nancy Wood
The death of children amidst the cross fire of ideas is evil’s
grandest gesture. Not even the loss of love nor a
summer without flowers creates a grief as deep
As the theft of children’s laughter. No horror speaks as loudly
as the final cries of children, who, like birds,
seek to spread their wings even when the sky bleeds
Dead dreams. In these dark moments, the Earth’s great heart
Stops beating. In the void that evil leaves behind, a question
arises: If fools make war on innocence,
then who becomes grief’s companion?
A single shaft of sunlight, falling on a drop of blood. A bird
rising higher than danger. A blade of grass, defiantly green
after fire wipes clean the face of desire. But most of all,
Music created by children’s tears.