Lovely child of
a war-torn world,
From your homeland you've been hurl'd;
From your loved ones you've been driven
Without an explanation given.
Chaotic seems your Universe.
Your every breath seems a curse.
So in the silent nights you cry
And often wish that you would die.
O victim of the madmen's game
'Tis not yourself you have to blame.
'Tis not that you are cold and bleak;
You were but a pawn on a board of teak.
The war is done, the past is gone;
The future awaits, go on and on.
Throw out that trash of sorrow and fear--
Dread not the morrow of each new year.
Each day that dawns is a new beginning.
The game's to play--there is no winning.
The chaos is merely in your mind--
'Tis inner peace that you must find.
Slow down, be calm and confident;
Cease thy senseless arguement.
You are a lovely, brilliant star
And happiness is not so far.
You fight a war that is no more;
Reopen wounds to keep them sore.
They were but lessons on the Path.
There's no more need for anger and
To understand is a gift from Above
Which can only be attained by the purest
With but a portion of this gift
The sorrow and fear from your soul will
"Every man and every woman is a star." -AL, I, 3