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Take each memory,
Release its pain,
These images I no longer can bear,
The eyes, Dear Lord, that cry no tears,
Eyes full of desolate hope.
I relive each face, I sense each touch, I hear each heart, Dear Lord.
Stomachs are empty,
Streets are full,
Children brushed away like dust,
Abandoned, Dear Lord, left as trash,
Abandoned to deviant means.
I scrape their sores, I bandage their wounds, they drop in my arms to rest.
Death on his shoulders,
Trained to aim,
His finger barely reaches the trigger,
He trembles, Dear Lord, and squints his eyes,
He trembles as blood sprays his face.
I bathe his cheek, I change his shirt, he drops the M4 to rest.
Too weak to whimper,
She stares above,
Oblivious to dawn’s early light,
This land, Dear Lord, of terminal death,
This land too poor to heal.
I cool her brow, I sing her song, she sighs as she’s laid to rest.
Take each memory,
Release its pain,
These images I no longer can bear,
The eyes, Dear Lord, that cry no tears,
Eyes full of desolate hope.
Hold them close, warm their soul, hear their hearts, Dear Lord.
Author’s note: An M4 is a semiautomatic rifle.
©2006
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