Times Such As These. . .

I lock up the room
and pocket the last remnants
of words laying about
unattended.

Fearful that pieces
of my heart may be found
scattered among them.
And why not?

Times such as these
leaves us with little salve
to heal the open wounds
which once were hearts.

For whom do we weep?
The children whose siblings
will no longer come to the table
to convey with no doubt
the events which took their innocence?

Or the parents
whose hearts were transplanted
when word came
that these unspent stars
were already breathing the rarified air
as heaven’s most blessed?

Look at us here.
Pleading that our children
will be safe as they try to understand
what we in our dotage
have not learned.
To resort to arms

means death in any country.