The Wisest of Us All

He, with his fingers curved in a fist

Raised in the air

Protesting broken harmonies

Fights back in belief,

In morals and prosperity.

While she, martyr of disdain

Speaks in a tounge not even she can understand

Captured in her imaginary world

Of ignorance and innocence

Flees from the land

Their daughters live in fear

Their sons live in lies

Sacred bonds broken

Knowing nothing of tryth,

Of faith, of hope

And yet, it is the abandoned infant

Remining free, uncontrolled, pure

Capable, beautiful, benevolent

Seeing, unblinded, untampered by our ways makes it true:

The infant is the wisest of us all