My eyes bleed
To the raw horror
Of children cut down while fleeing
The coward’s aim.
When the one who would be
His brother
Lies dying,
When the warm-hearted gather
In trust and prayer,
Defenseless to the monster,
Who will be a victor only
In his own Hell,
For he knows not the truth
Of love incarnate,
Of love of us all connected
As one soul, one body.
His blind will, his dark, cold prison.
His heart, a thing of drought.
Their pain, the searing fire,
The betrayed gazes of death.
Will he come to know that pain?
Will he come to feel that pain?
Will he come to see that pain
As his own?
©Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.blog
Image: Original Digital Art, “Heaven’s Gate” ©Martha Harris See Martha’s Artistic Flarings @artisticflarings.blogt
