Sometimes only a poet can touch the truth.
No, it was not a dream. We wake on bitter knees playing 52 card pick-up. Of the things that befall us this one pierces deeper for lost are the least of these. The killing of children is the killing of everything. Tomorrow’s temptation will be strong – to profess creeds with uncrossed fingers. Today we walk in shadows of faith, that is, in doubt. Suffer the little children. They are going to be buried for a long, long time.