tucked just off the Avenue of Mixed Fortunes--
below 110th where the sun shines brighter blessings
and dreams have unlocked doors.
Smiles walk easy
on winding paths blazed thru rolling fields;
blacktopped in the name of progress;
holding calm, still.
Cries of Yellow Cabs
melt in an aura of peace.
The hush of God’s whispers
embraces disturbed spirits,
keeping the oasis sacred;
delivering a call to imagine
with a perfectly tiled mosaic,
crafted into asphalt; surrounded by grassy hills
in remembrance of a spirit
who sang for good will.
Our souls bend when reflecting on his message--
enriched with the color of life from his vision;
how he spread love and peace in abundance,
while nursing the world with his humble song.
Imagine if his vision was contagious;
if the world inhaled his message
and embraced it like God’s whispers.
It wouldn’t take tragedy or death
for us to open our hearts and reflect--
clouds would part in acceptance.
Nations would clean their streets, instead of their guns.
Fathers would be present to raise their sons.
Judgment would wither in the face of humanity.
Honesty would less often be viewed as insanity.
Hearts would hold love in a larger capacity
and Mother Earth would smile her approval.
There’s a place I know
across from the Dakota where anger reared its ugly head
and Yoko’s tears still stain the walkway,
until she passes into the field of peace.
She fills her lungs with the cherry blossom’s scent;
their petals floating on the winds of love’s spirit
landing with soft kisses on the tiled mosaic;
coloring the grassy hills.
I see her here often,
mingling with visitors who come to mourn.
Her smile,
the mosaic’s fitted tiles
and the cherry blossoms bouquet
leave them to depart
enriched with the color of life.
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