Tuesday, 23 December 2014

Diary Entry – December 16th, 2014

Blessed shall he be who takes your little ones and dashes them against the rock!” – Psalm 137:9

See how they come, the little boys and girls.
See how they come, in helpless, mourning arms,
As fathers comfort mothers, who, in vain,
Hope, no, pretend, and even start to think
That all the children that left home today
Might just ‘come home’. No, let the bodies come,

And let, with tears, the cloud of hatred shrink,
And let, with time, the wounds begin to heal.
But clouds like this will never truly fade:
They'll haunt these ghostly classrooms and these homes,
And leave an all-infectious blood red smirk,
Spurning the scarce attempts of love in this

Clamour we call life, no. No solace can
Be found. There’s pity, yes, pity for those
Whose houses now must hold an empty bed,
And anger, too, for those with hearts so black
No sharpened stake could penetrate them, hearts
So sick, no good could dwell within them.

But no, true pity rings my Western eyes
In their clinging failure to accept the truth,
In the prayers, in the words sent up to an
Empty sky. There’s a certain irony:
When one hundred and thirty smiling lives,
The victims of a fight that is not theirs,

Are cruelly, brutally cut short by war,
I say, with certainty, there is no God.
And yet these men and women lift their heads
With eyes of trust and faith, and let out cries,
And beg, and throw themselves into the dust,
To hear that voice, his voice, addressing them.

There drifts amongst the winds that futile hope
That he would save those souls he left to dust.

No comments:

Post a Comment