The Call - To Lady Europe In These Troubled Times

This This is This is a This is a call. This is a call to This is a call to prayer. God God is God is one God is one God. And a song goes out And a song goes out And a song goes out in the morning. And the crier’s cry and the crier’s cry and the crier’s cry’s from the towers. At the lunch hour you spill and throng and swarm. Hot heads touch cold stones in stoic reverence where cobbled streets become mosques. And you look, lady dressed in twenty-seven stars, at burning cities governed by the dispossessed. Your eyes are framed in sickles and potent crescents. Your head is crowned with ice. Your heart lies embedded in memories of strife. Your feet blister, treading lands glowing angry like coals. At once, one hand grasps unruly youths The other blocks the east that reaches for the west. Do not leave me mute, grasping angry stones. Do not leave me mute, pelted with rubber vengeance. Do not leave me mute because my silence is not compliance merely incipient defiance.