Monday, August 31, 2015

O Come, O Come Emanuel

Hush daughter, breath low and slow, low and slow.
Imagine a cross-section of a lake --
its surface at eye level smooth and blank
when nine pebbles (in a line) fall to the depths below.

Hush daughter, be still and silent as stone,
We may march into that cold lake of lost souls.
We will wade into the water of fears.
And white skin will soak up our blood, sweat, and tears.

Wake daughter, and run, and cry, run and cry
Nine bullets dragged their bodies through the veil.
Grab each one and become the tattered kite tail
as all fly above and pierce the sky.

Rise up daughter and blast into the light.
We shall overcome the tale of that sorry night.


2 comments:

  1. You amaze me with your words, dear friend.

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  2. I forgot to tell you that I was sorry. so sorry for the sadness that happened in your city...and I wanted to hug you,I knew you would be there.

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