Fifty-One

I used to think that my heart was heavy,

But it had gotten heavier

When Mom turned on the TV,

And suits behind desks

Orated about catastrophe to the north of us.

Things got twisted, flipped over,

Torn to pieces like paper.

There were fifty-one gone

(To Hell or Heaven, I do not know).

And they’re still searching…

Here! is the sting of Death;

A hornet that stings

A small, helpless infant.

It pierces deep into our veins,

And our mortality stares at us with cold, grey eyes.

God, are you watching?!

If I feel far from You,

How much further away are they?

Those who have debris to pull out of their yards?

If You would be near to me,

Be near to them, and closer still.

There is hope to be found,

And it isn’t in this terrible world.

Hope is beyond what we have ever seen,

And it has a voice like a watchman’s horn.

Who hears it?