Te pido la paz para mi ciudad. Te pido perdón por mi ciudad. Ahora me humillo y busco tu rostro. A quién iré Señor si no a ti?Morning dawns over Flor del Campo
And students gather in a concrete soccer field
Overlooking their neighborhood, their homes, their families.
Their voices alone are small--like them.
But they join together.
Painfully beautiful, the violence is real for them,
So is the peace ,though, the new start.
Children equated with innocence
Take blame upon themselves
And with bold lack of reticence,
Cry to God for peace in a violent city.
Twilight takes hold of the world outside the fence
And florescent lights allow the soccer game to press on.
The game is light-hearted, betraying the deep seriousness
That sat heavily on the participants and observers just minutes prior.
Thoughts of "Qué es la paz?" blurred as sweat rolled down faces
And the game rose in intensity.
The divide between the opportunistic norteamericanas
And the hondureños that have been seared by scenes of violence
Becomes impossible to decipher as soccer begins to dominate.
The world outside becomes dark
Save for scattered stars made by streetlights.
Inside the soccer court, the boys become sparks
And the darkness starts to tremble.
For daily updates on our adventures, check out our group blog: http://blogs.cofc.edu/honorshonduras/blog/
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