Since we could not take the brutality of bodies hanging from oak trees
we are now asked to accept the subtly of a barrage of endless shots.
“If you do this, then you won’t get got.”
Not
realizing that placating pain is insane.
We die. We cry. Oh well.
In our death dress, cloaked in stress.
Enshrined in lines from verses. “Father, forgive them…”
Go ahead, God. Forgive them. I don’t. I won’t — pretend
that sin ends in a place that scurries from Know, stifles Grow.
There are seeds to sow. Rise and open your eyes.
Beware of disguises. Masks moved. It behooves
us not to be complacent with cowards. We will not remain
downcast in doubt and defeat. We look up. We look ahead.
Know that
onward we march. Forward we go.