Let Us Mourn

Let us mourn those children born 
not knowing they could be enemies 
in anyone’s war: 
Let our tears fall like petrol raining 
on fire, licking the blood that crowns 
the hills above the ruined village. 

Let us mourn for bandages and 
plasma never sent, for hospitals 
never built, for wells never dug, for 
windmills never raised, for the 
bright merciless sun, and a hot sky 
sucking moisture out of the sand. 

Let is mourn for truths all know 
but few believe. 

Let us mourn for cultures in chaos, 
civilizations in disarray, for those 
who still believe they can secure 
order by destroying others.

Let us mourn for the revelation love 
might have brought instead of the 
apocalypse of blood we received. 

Let us mourn for a god who must 
grow weary of its own imperfections, 
a god we continually ask to choose 
sides, who must be with us but not 
in us, the god of last chances, the 
god of miracles, holy god of the 
Home Run, the Hole-in-One, and 
the Hail Mary Pass