With resolve we climb our mountains,
Eyes opened to the sky.
Never stopping once to question why.
Duties of the generations,
Doubly bought and bled for,
And believed as more then old shed-lore.
Straight incoherent loyalties,
To people, thoughts, sights, sounds,
Delusions of what in life compounds.
Human souls are not possessions,
Or their labors and skin.
Not by blood, or purse, or condition.
Untrustworthiness with others,
Is surely ‘nough to drive,
Rebellion and logic into the head to thrive.
Respect, kindness, and clemency,
Should be the character,
Deemed to be valued in portraiture;
And for the ages handed down,
As presentation of,
What the word “family” means: chosen love.
Love is not conditioned or set,
As some rigid mountain.
For love is lost when self-interest,
Is the only plan.
K. Aldaya, 9/25/06
Picture: Photographer Unknown; http://blog.internations.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/09/International-friends.png
My Soul is a Lock Without a Key 
