Why do the men die?
Why do the women weep?
How am I to tell them
We all only sleep?
My head is on fire,
My chest carries a brick.
How on earth do I convince them
This life’s only a trick?
Let my barbaric yawp sound
Across the roofs of earth and sky.
I want them to hear me.
God knows I’m not sure why.
Limitation laughs at me
Should I care at all?
If out of a hundred,
Only one lamb should fall?
I know most of my kind
Don’t give a damn
For the rejected, ragged sufferers
Stumbling through a raped, ravaged land.
A thorny rope tightens around my soul.
The heart’s blood leaves each eye.
Because their dead faces I can’t forget,
No matter how hard I try.
I clench my small fists
And I curse my heart’s unnecessary size.
I tell my soul “be still”
When the blood flows from my eyes.
Lock the eyes away,
seal them up tight,
I don’t want to see
Every poor man’s plight.
My insides are wailing.
Heart says, “handle with care.”
But how can I help it
If it is fragile as air?
Heart screams for the people.
Each lives like one dead,
Eyes shrouded in suffocating cloud,
And a cruelly veiled head.
I lose count keeping track.
I cry for each one.
There are too many.
Would it have been better if we were none?
Dear God, I’m set to implode!
But who cares what they think?
I will not let my resolve
Push my mind over the brink.
This heaviness binds me,
but I am not afraid.
That pulsating longing
will come to somebody's aid.
It will not be useless.
My hands will not swing.
there is someone out there
whom unto God I shall bring.
Like this:
Like Loading...
Related
Published by Miss Holmes of Gondor
Hallo there.
I'm Emily: aspiring theologian, medievalist, and author. I drink far too much tea, play excessive amounts of chess, and I will always use the Oxford comma religiously. I am a university student heartily engrossed in English literature, writing, and all things devoted to the art of story. Accordingly, I have an immense adoration for literature, medieval theology, and art. I am always asking odd questions, and I don't think I shall ever stop. Those questions become stories, stories tell us who we are, and I don't think I shall ever stop writing them either. By God's grace, I will lend my voice to those millennia-old academic discussions and unveil truth, beauty, and love for all the world to observe.
I am delighted that you're here to listen to my musings!
View all posts by Miss Holmes of Gondor
“Lock the eyes away, seal them up tight, I don’t want to see every poor man’s plight.” Wow. This is some amazing and soul touching work.
Oh, thank you so much! That means a lot…