If we can ever lift ourselves high up in the deep blue sky,
the dashing view would drain the tears in all three.

Yet you would sadly spot fresh traces of mortal aches,
hilariously fencing the tranquility of the Holy See,
as if we were the chosen ones to oversee,
and not exactly the opposite is true.

Oh dear - wherever you are - my nightingale,
whisper your ultimate trance to my dearly Gates,
no, no, not the one who walks along side Rice,
the smart Gates with Virgin and Hathaway.
To stage a virtual world play in warfare,
where we can ferociously spend our rage,
without any drip of blood in futile.

If God smiled when He molded the land of Sundanese,
He must have laughed heartily the whole seven days,
creating the Whole Wide World we live in today,
the very one we owe our offspring to share,
a true beauty we can never replace.

If ever true that the world is what we make,
can it be the one without even faint shades of the stale?
When old Putin and Laden grow young and anew,
could not it be the best time for us to render,
a better view of ourselves and the foes,
lurking silently deep down inside,
even the enlightened hearts?

Extend your hands and I will lend you mine,
together we can cast the doubts and fears aside,
for if we let our hearts wide under the heavenly stars’ gaze,
we will hear happy tunes of the upcoming world peace,
where everybody enjoys their rightful shares.

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Copyright©2017-1999 by Rebecca R. Hammack

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