Poem © Kinshasa 2004

Colder than arctic blasts,

And colder still than deepest space.

It whips and whistles over all.

No fires for warmth

Stand upon the lonely moor.

No beacons to guide the way.

An inky darkness blotting out the sun.

But why cold,

When there can be warmth?

Why darkness,

When there can be light?

Many have fallen asleep in their ways,

And few have seen with true sight.

A silent cloud shadows all

Yet few know it is there.

Ignorance is a bane of all ages,

And hate its malevolent child.

But why,

Why ignorance,

When there can be understanding?

Why hate,

When there can be love?

Strike a fire for all to see,

For it is far to cold

When warmest it should be.