Catholic Planet www.catholicplanet.com | a worldwide online Catholic magazine |
[ main page | contact info | submit an article | search ] |
Nine - Eleven |
Purple clouds rush over us and dank chill Red October winds oppress a world Which only yesterday hummed with summer; Today the tube shows only the broken, jagged, teeth of Empire jetting upwards through ghostly smoke and debris as from a skull Bewildered firemen creep through the hollowed sockets From which no-thing stares Skinless bone of fingers scrape the coffin dome of uncertain skies with crooked necrotic nails of last minute's terror Beneath smoulder multitudes, the shades of Sheol Blue with death Who just that morning Made their eggs and bagels And kissed goodbye their other And worried only water cooler worries... On the other side of a world They make for the borders Tens of thousands wrapped in blankets, Dirt bucket poor On donkeys, and on foot, like Joseph and Mary Nomads in a time forgotten, but there, now To escape the fiery Apocalypse Which falls like Hell itself in flaming Smart-shelled nightmares Which their mothers never taught them, Like some horror or fiction which even devils of themselves cannot conceive or can they? I lift my lantern with trembling hand to look for hope And seek some salve to ease the aching of my heart Which throbs in pain for all, Even for the perpetrators, On both sides, Who have no doubt, Who are not capable of doubting Or spitting back the milk they suckled At a mother's paps Jesus! Crucified! God Almighty! Man of Sorrows! Rejected and left to hungry crows On bitter wood! Weep for Jerusalem again And for us all For we are still in deepest troubles And Rachel is still heard wailing For her children And she--we--cannot be comforted! by Stephen Hand |
This poem is © Copyright 2001 by Stephen Hand