Faith

Corners of cries,
Locked up in a symphany of silence.
While the band plays it's songs,
And the children sit and watch.

The adults stand by,
Not knowing to hold their hands,
But merely blocking in,
The song of the heart.

Spirit cast in the souls,
That were soon to turn dark,
That would feed upon the minds,
Of those different than they.

They chased down the weak,
Into a little cage,
Eating at their confidence,
Like an every day meal.

Spirit made the outcast,
But did It have to cast them out?
Did It have to confine them,
To be alone in their minds?

So many people,
But to them no one is there.
As they sit watch the others,
With wide eyes and open hearts,

Hoping someday and somewhere,
Someone will let them in,
So that they no longer will be casted out,
Into a world defined by it's cruelty.

The only people who really have the gift of sight,
Are the outcasts condemed to be nobodies.
Only they can understand who others really are,
Soon to learn who themselves are.

Pride theives and labels,
Seem to fly about,
But no one really cares about what they even see.
The outcasts understand how not to treat others but not themselves.

The hand of insecurities seems to slap them in the face.
Giving them the choice of flaws that they don't want.
Feeling pointless to the world because they've been cast out,
These outcasts have a weapon.

This weapon is known to those who believe,
And only seen to those who wish to see it.
People can stop fighting long before this weapon will give up.
It is the power of Faith.

To believe in something or someone,
And to eat out of the hand of hope,
Is to breathe in happiness,
And to slap the hand of insecurities back.

To know that Spirit,
Is a never quitting light,
A weapon that will surely be on your side for life and beyond,
Is to have a weapon that promises you victory at all costs.