Nine Souls
[Note: this poem was written in memory of a specific mass killing at a church, but there has been since then so much evil done at churches, temples, and mosques--all houses of God...as are all schools where children go to learn. ]
When he came to the church,
a disciple of the Opposition,
did he plan to take his time?
Did he relish watching those
good people around the table
as they shared their struggles,
with others, themselves, God?
Did he play in his forsaken mind
(so bereft of love or even a
tinge of compassion) just whose
life he would take first, and who
would die last? What a sense of
power a gun gives to a coward,
playing god in God's own house.
Joyful he must have felt
as he took their lives but
freed their souls-nine souls
he could not see yet they
saw him, standing exultant
over their now unneeded
bodies, his hate satiated.
But they would not hate him,
for God's children love,
and love now filled their souls,
as it filled their lives when
they walked on the earth. So
they would pray together
one last time in the church
they loved, praying for the
damned soul of the sad man
until the angels came to carry
them off to God's open arms.
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