If we are fortunate there will come a day
When after having gathered enough courage
We are able to answer the knock
That only the brave heart can hear
A knock that heralds the beginning of a journey
To find all of our eleventh sons
The banished, the beaten and the sold off parts of our past
Exiled and left unattended in our Goshens
They have grown clever, wild, and powerful
Hiding their silver cups in amongst the folds of our days and nights
Triggers readied and holding us ransom
Until they are finally recognized
Until we stand before the world in our totality
Masks down, wounds and bruises uncovered
Vulnerable and cloaked in nothing but a colourful sacred wholeness
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