Let Go, And Dance! Poem by Eric Cockrell

the burnt branch,
has a name and a prayer.
the small child understands
the language of sparrows.
tiny snowflakes shout,
even the snail leaves a trace.
the rough touch of the cat's tongue,
speaks of history and hope.

yet we go mourning,
unable to see or to hear.
we rinse our mouths,
to get rid of the taste.
we crucify flowers,
in the name of beauty.
but the blood on our hands,
has the scent of our souls!

let go, and dance!