NAMELESS
The man who observes the death of Jesus Christ during His lifetime. He watched the crowd roar and become enticed and horrified to see such a sight; much as a mob rush upon the respectable White House. The wind changes the course of history. He sees the women crying and screaming at the same time. It’s early in the morning; twilight hour of the day…why are the children still awake? Should such young eyes witness such a horrific event? Would this cause them to embrace their own innocence? He watches the man who God called His son, who human praised, and shout out to, “Hosanna, Hosanna! Our Messiah we can see you’re the chosen one!” He witnesses this man’s physical death.
Nameless, were the women who beseech children as brides of the sons who were the fathers of the earlier generation; thus, these are the tribes of Israel. Women who sung the song of the lullabies; women who nursed the warriors with their breast milk, washed the garments of the youth, plus, were the labor force before the unions were formed. They fed the masses food from kitchens with wood & fire, married the marinade of taste, smell and atmosphere of cuisine and culture.
Nameless are the children we see in school before graduation and their established career of poverty and poor. Every homeless person has a childhood. Every violent assassin has a story; something which brought them passion in their life; as the wind moves among the trees, given knowledge to humans, their calling in life. Whom are we meant to be- a fireman, a race car driver, a fisherman, a fashion designer… who else walks their path of destiny and dance to the music within their fate? Every child has a dream. Every poor, homeless person of poverty has a goal; to one day walk in a room which they may call home. Nameless are the tombstones- soldiers, veterans- why a Memorial Day, why a Veteran Day, why was there a 9/11? Who guarded the elevator in the Twin Towers on that day? We see the travelers. We see the businesspeople. We give memories to the soldiers, the pirates and the barbarians, humans who laid their life down as prey; laugh loudly, drunken by the smoke of fire which they breath in as it smelled like body stench. These people are our ancestors, Our great, great, great, great, great, Great-grandmas & Great- granddads.
Oh how, we celebrate together on Christmas morning… oh how the children sing and dance as they open the gifts of Mom & Dad transcending from Grandma & Granddad.
The dogs sigh and howl in the background; candle-wax lights leaves a reminisce of fragrance of the silent night before…earlier twilight dawn, we as a nation enter another season- Winter months which cycles in hot chocolate, sleigh rides, beautiful lights, red & green lights shine on Earth as stars on trees in unison of the leaves which fall then are given back in rebirth during the Spring months, during the return of Seasons. During the Springtime there is a refreshing garden smell of Mother Nature; during the resurrection of the body, corpse souls of humans… during our last days of age the dawning of the dead. Revelation.
The man who observes the death of Jesus Christ during His lifetime. He watched the crowd roar and become enticed and horrified to see such a sight; much as a mob rush upon the respectable White House. The wind changes the course of history. He sees the women crying and screaming at the same time. It’s early in the morning; twilight hour of the day…why are the children still awake? Should such young eyes witness such a horrific event? Would this cause them to embrace their own innocence? He watches the man who God called His son, who human praised, and shout out to, “Hosanna, Hosanna! Our Messiah we can see you’re the chosen one!” He witnesses this man’s physical death.
Nameless, were the women who beseech children as brides of the sons who were the fathers of the earlier generation; thus, these are the tribes of Israel. Women who sung the song of the lullabies; women who nursed the warriors with their breast milk, washed the garments of the youth, plus, were the labor force before the unions were formed. They fed the masses food from kitchens with wood & fire, married the marinade of taste, smell and atmosphere of cuisine and culture.
Nameless are the children we see in school before graduation and their established career of poverty and poor. Every homeless person has a childhood. Every violent assassin has a story; something which brought them passion in their life; as the wind moves among the trees, given knowledge to humans, their calling in life. Whom are we meant to be- a fireman, a race car driver, a fisherman, a fashion designer… who else walks their path of destiny and dance to the music within their fate? Every child has a dream. Every poor, homeless person of poverty has a goal; to one day walk in a room which they may call home. Nameless are the tombstones- soldiers, veterans- why a Memorial Day, why a Veteran Day, why was there a 9/11? Who guarded the elevator in the Twin Towers on that day? We see the travelers. We see the businesspeople. We give memories to the soldiers, the pirates and the barbarians, humans who laid their life down as prey; laugh loudly, drunken by the smoke of fire which they breath in as it smelled like body stench. These people are our ancestors, Our great, great, great, great, great, Great-grandmas & Great- granddads.
Oh how, we celebrate together on Christmas morning… oh how the children sing and dance as they open the gifts of Mom & Dad transcending from Grandma & Granddad.
The dogs sigh and howl in the background; candle-wax lights leaves a reminisce of fragrance of the silent night before…earlier twilight dawn, we as a nation enter another season- Winter months which cycles in hot chocolate, sleigh rides, beautiful lights, red & green lights shine on Earth as stars on trees in unison of the leaves which fall then are given back in rebirth during the Spring months, during the return of Seasons. During the Springtime there is a refreshing garden smell of Mother Nature; during the resurrection of the body, corpse souls of humans… during our last days of age the dawning of the dead. Revelation.
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