forward to other fields, leaving
shock, despair, fear and dead-
Where are those who disappear
in flames; souls of smoke rise
higher than prayers can reach.
In my abandoned pulpit mute
preaching clangs an empty
note. God lives for me, dies
for another, lives again again
again we are placed upon the pile
overlooking destruction, speechless.
And for the most part our heralds
have remained speechless
clueless of how to handle a story
that cannot call a clarion bleat,
cannot wrench fear-filled sheep.
‘Tis horror upon horror, terribly
sorry, but it’s not politically charged.
Slowly past the carnage drives
one who knows what must be done;
who does what one must do.
It’s Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub. Write anything that can conceivably be considered poetry, link it to the post, and then read and respond to others posted in the blog.
I would like real, thoughtful feedback on this poem.