For All

The drunkard on the street

Begging with dirty fingers

Is no less worthy.

The banker mired in wealth,

Fiddling his taxes

Has access to everlasting love.

The warlord

Entrenched in violence

Could touch the eternal flame.

The everyman

Just getting on

Is a request away from energy.

The robber, the thief, the swindler,

And the police

Are equally entitled.

All are welcomed

Into the heart of love,

The sun inside, shining infinitely.

Religion Of War

 

If religion were expunged
Our ripe blood hearts
And fanatical brains
Would conjure
The sword wet
Dichotomy
Of feuding
Once more
And once again,
And we’d war
For sake of differing
And march
Beneath some other
Banner, flag
Or hot thought
Incendiary
In its desire
To strike out
And baptise
New recruits
In the endless
Cycle of violence.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice

A Kindness

To the damaged and oppressed
It lays its gentle hand, its gentle
breath, and asks for nothing.

To the wronged and dispossessed
It understands with a kindly hand
And be’s there without a sound.

To the despised and those dismissed
It offers its warm hand to temper
Loneliness, washing the mind clean

And bringing all to the light of wholeness.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015.