it is the sensethat something that was alivefor a very long timeis still alive. Not yet beaten intosubmissionor oblivionby those who kill everythingthey touchwith money.

In our despair that justice is slowwe sit with heads bowedwonderinghoweven whether we will ever be healed.Perhaps it is a questiononly the ravagedthe violatedseriously ask.And is that not nowalmost all of us?But hope is on the way.As usual Hope is a womanherding her childrenaround herall she retains of whoshe was; as usualexcept for her kidsshe has lost almost everything.Hope is a woman who has lost her fear.

Hope is a woman who has lost her fear.

We will never regret having been born in this cruel time for we recognize it for what it is: the time of fullness of heart.

Long as I can spell G-o-d I got somebody along.