The Nomads Poem by Cerys Grant

Born of self preservation,
to join in the cyclic dance.
With all others,
who were here long before us.

And dance we did,
until we eventually spun out, widening the circle,
dancing and shouting!
We did not invite any others to join us,
we wanted only our own faces to surround us.
And then the dance turned into war.

To defy God,
is to think you are more than a god.
That sparrows do not know of a soul.
Yet we are all born of sparrows, and trees.
But without us, they become irrelevant,
We are the greatest grace to the universe!
A gift to those that know of us!
A comforting promise to those who don’t!
And an exciting revelation to those about to meet us!

If all the stars dissolved their shine into one globe,
the brightness would pale dismally in the face of a child.
All that surrounds us is not there to serve us,
But to be our foothills when we need to tread else where.

Oh blessed is the universe!
Oh! God must cry at the beauty of this one life form!
For what could be any more beautiful,
than one sweet child?
Sleeping sweetly,
cradled in the arms of a loving mother?

Self preservation,
is a dangerous thing.
Like revenge, its tentacles never stop to spread.
Soon sweet and innocent child,
Soon! You will have to use those delicate feet,
to walk to a new home in the sky.

When all around has become grey and a little dull,
we will take our mirrors and go forth!
To a new horizon!
A new home that will honour us, worship us,
We deserve nothing less!
Remember, the son of a God died for us!
Nothing else will ever be that important!
Remember nothing is without us!

Only the eternal are valid,
and we can shape forever!
Moving from home to home,
leaving behind our legacies,
to undeserved things.
But we cannot leave behind any memories,
because only the living have memories.

So the eternal virus plods along,
like a nomadic tribe.
Taking everything and leaving nothing.
Too seemingly insignificant to be detected.
To slow in causing destruction to be eradicated.
Never waking anything to disrupt us in our killing fields.