AFTER THIS
after this
you ask me
not what
forgiveness
but what
salvation, what
resurrection?
but in the absence
of principle
I cannot answer
I do not know
mine is a ramshackle
up-down, on-off
lesser evil, beyond
good
and evil kind of spirituslity
but this is
a crime beyond crimes
in the eyes
of God
were he willing
to open them
were he
prepared to see
and all this
blood
this carnage
it cannot but have stained us
smashed that mirror into
shell shrapnel, bomb
splinter sized
needle-like fragments
the one
in which
divine likeness
was seen
wounds
need healing, and
all these wounds
are
self-inflicted
ask me
later
not now not now
later I may again believe
in something, in humanity
in purpose
and vision
today
but today
just short of hopeless for me
silence better
than these paltry words here
poems 2 die for 