Sometimes only a poet can touch the truth.

the beautiful due

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.
 
 
 

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