A Psalm for the Living
To whom shall I lift up my prayers
for the children of the living,
whose laughter descends from the clouds?
To whom shall I pray
for the mothers of the living,
whose tears form a deluge at my feet?
I have lifted my eyes unto the hill
and from thence cometh indifference
to the severed limbs and the bones
chalk white against the dust,
smitten by sun showers of white
phosphorous by day
and (Adir)sidewinders by night.
Will he that does not slumber
walk amongst the refuge(es) to
see up close the will of his chosen?
Will he hear my supplications from over here?
Will he hear theirs over the screams of the F16s
obliterating the uncovered
where there is no rock under which
the un-homed could hide,
where the green pastures now burn?
Will he preserve their flight
along evacuation routes
of perpetual blight?
Will he, who made Heaven,
remember all of his children
on this Earth?
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