Ripped, Severed, Broken. . . .

Times Such As These. . .

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

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

Times such as these
leave 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.


3 responses to “Ripped, Severed, Broken. . . .”

  1. Your words put out there what I cannot even get through my lips. And the image is extraordinary!

    Why are we allowing our country to be taken hostage, when a majority wants this issue dealt with?! When the darkness unleashed full force, only then will the rats following the Pied Piper realize what they’ve done.

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