“God bless us, everyone!”
So the master said (as did the Master
if you believe in him/it/her/them…)
We echo it with the fall of snowflakes.
But we don’t, of course.
Bless, I mean. We say that we believe
(although our actions don’t concur).
We rape. We steal. We murder children.
None of this rare. None of it new.
Blessings make the news, in fact.
So rare are they a 2-carat Arkansas diamond
that we are struck as if by a glimmering
of fireflies, rising from a damp grave.
I want more blessings. Not for me
but for the children who are separated
from their homes, from their lives.
For the women recoiling in fear
the men beaten into straight submission
those who wear strength like a torn mask.
Please, God/Great Spirit/Universe/Gaia
Bless us.
Everyone.
This is a hard truth poem. I don’t have much use for the human race these days, but I believe in poetry and truth.
Thanks, Sharon — I agree: poetry & truth. And love…
An unexpected turn – and well done.
‘those who wear strength like a torn mask’ leaps out at me on so many levels.
Thank you!