Before the cathedrals,
We knew good and evil.
Before the cathedrals,
We knew the way to our GOD.
Before the cathedrals,
We knew.
What happened to us,
Sons and daughters of the soil?
Why did we call our sacred land evil?
Why did we call our cultural values primitive?
Why did we look down on ourselves?

We’ve allowed people kill our essence.
How do we then enjoy the fruits of our land?

Before the cathedrals,
Our oaks knew.




Have you ever seen words

That pierce the heart like arrows,

Or a nest inhabiting not birds,

But a crowd of bedfellows?

Maybe, just maybe a yes.

I met her on the sunshine of March.

Perhaps shining, but she was an angel of mess.

She seemed a perfect match

With glows of the august colours of petals.

Her aura defined betrayal’s serenity,

For her beauty portrayed meaning of lethal

Outlining its sin to love’s eternity.

She made my heart bleed

the inks of a wailing quill

© TurksonQuills