Bleeding Heart

           My heart is bleeding from the violence I see.

                 Babies are crying; mothers lying in the streets.

                    Children are running; men fighting their way through.

                       My body is aching from the violence I see.

                          Women are screaming; lovers denying their peace.

                             Fathers are falling; teens pleading for their release.


                              My heart is bleeding from this violence I see.

                                       Sisters shrieking; infants dying in the womb.

                                          Brothers are climbing, elders yearning no more to be.

                                             My soul is aching from this violence I see.

                                                Grandfathers are groaning; toddlers crippled by the brew.

                                                   Grandmothers are stumbling; guardians shielding not the least.


                                       My heart is bleeding from this violence I see.

Penned – 10/26/03 – MG

All Set To Fly


I watched as my 12 year old walked into school the first day of seventh grade. He had on his favorite shoes, his uniform shorts and shirt; his laptop strapped across his back, and his wheeled backpack handle tight within his grasp. As I looked on, I saw a young man entering that building full of confidence and dreams. I realized in that moment, I could have just as easily have been watching him board an international airline destined for the other side of the world.

He is growing up so very fast. The past two years have seemed quite like a whirlwind…maybe more accurately, a hurricane. Don’t misunderstand these have been wonderful years full of fun, wonder, excitement, adventures, questions, dreams and, yes, maybe a few tears…of course, those have probably been more from my eyes than anyone else’s! Yet, it still feels like a hurricane when I think of how fast the time has gone by. Our years with him are so very short! They just seem to slip by, as if each one is a tiny grain of sand, sliding through my fingertips, and we don’t ever get those years back. Once they’re gone, they’re gone forever, and we’re simply left with the cherished memories we made or the aching regret of what has vanished.

So, I will continue to treasure the minutes I have with him. I will open my eyes to see the valiant man he is becoming and remember the boyhood hero he once was. I will open my ears to hear the heart of a dreamer with goals and visions of tomorrow, and I will reminisce of the childhood imaginations that brought him here. I will release him to live, to dream, to become as I clutch tightly the memoirs of the little boy who came to be.

One day soon, he will fly far, far away……I pray he will remember to look back and wave……my heart aches…