Poetry

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Who is my neighbor?
A reasonable question asked by the earnest student
Of the ultimate Neighbor, whose red-inked reply
Has been taught down through the years
With questionable wisdom.

Who is my neighbor?
Still the question hangs upon the air with increasing urgency.
For all that dare to ask know in the hearts hidden places
The answer holds the key to all of man’s uncertain tomorrows.

Is it him? Is it her?
We long to know the answer…hoping it
Will wash away all our desperate isolation.

But are we truly seeking the answer
When war is yet exalted in our midst…
When blood has become the easy currency
To purchase treasure hidden in the sand
Of rulers who embrace hatred like a lover…
Even as lesser men pursue our national addiction
With ruthless intent?
Are we seeking when higher and higher walls
Blot out the darkening sky
And bridge-builders are driven from the land?

Who is my neighbor?
The answer is not hidden…it never has been.
Though it has been trod upon by marching boots
Down through the battle-scared centuries,
Still it reaches out to all seeking souls desperate for its healing touch.

Still it possesses its priceless worth
Eager to make rich the Sons of man.
Who is my neighbor? It is you!

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