Wholeness

I suppose there was a time when rivers flowed right through the night, and deer danced under the stars, and all was well inside one's heart; and then the bombs flew through the skies, a work of man with a deranged mind; because he could and could not stop the leaky venom from spilling out; and flowers wept while mothers cried and children died under grey sky; and once again the birds did sing and fathers walked as tall as kings; and hope was strong and music soared into the fields made of red clover; and maybe soon, we will awake, from this long dream made up of pain, and will remember who we are, and we'll exalt in the wholeness of the one.