This post is for the people who don't have water, who don't have work, who don't have hope. This one goes to the children whose parents love them, and to those whose parents abandoned them. In this post, I ache for everyone who has died, and for everyone who longs to die. I cry for the pain of the lonely child, and I sob for the hungry. Here I wish luck to the Hispanics applying for permission to enter the land of oppurtunity so that they can obtain a job that will enable them to feed their family. What a stark contrast there is between those who celebrate life, and those who celebrate death.
I question Bali and the Caribbean islands as they contradict their own beauty with poverty suffered by multitudes. How can Mexico City be so beautiful, and so dirty?
Oh! the beauty of the Indian celebration, oh! the cruelty of the Calcutta red light district. Look at the colourful African plain, look at the war-torn farm land. I love the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, but it hurts to hear that children live on streets in the neighbouring metropolis. How horrible to know that someone has choked to death in a country full of air filters and fast-acting asthma medication. I utter a sad cry for the people who feel left behind, and lost in a crowd.
Here I raise my banner high, as a rebel refusing to submit to the cruelty of this planet. I refuse to let it be. I don't like seeing others suffer, I don't like knowing that they do. I hate to hear of those who refuse to take the hand offered them.There is so much beauty, but there is so much hurt. I long to see it all changed; I long to belong. What a glory to know that soon there will be a new time when nothing is wrong, and nothing is perverted. The truth which is the answer to the pain has been revealed-it has all been said. The real problem is that so many of us refuse to listen.
This one is for those who have yet to hear, but are ready to believe.



Lydia