(I am running out of words and energy at this time nearing the terminus of my life.  I find that what I have written in the past of these earth shaking events are words that still wring my heart to shreds.  And yours, too.  I cannot find other words to tell their story.  Our language does not hold them for me.  We are heartbroken that there is another occasion to repeat them.)

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
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.