Heavenly Lord, it happened in Orlando,
A pawn who willed himself to be commando
Through purchasing a gun—as though a weapon’s
Power to kill could be transferred. It happens.
It was, alas, an execrable attempt
To exorcise a demon—his unkempt,
That of a man embracing love of men
Which contravened his stern religious ken.
They say his father held religion strict,
Afraid to cross his fathers’ interdict—
Those of his friends, who opened up their hearts
To him, as peace confusedly departs.
He went back to the place, that he had known
In frequent visitation, a kill zone
For him as gentle peaceful loving souls
Fell to his bullets, bodies pierced with holes.
The soul of joy survives, and will live on;
The body that he feared—bodies are gone,
Wounded and injured persons, himself dead,
Left in one’s place a grievous wound instead.
Lord, let me say it loud: no weaponry
Can force a world desired to come to be—
That which we are, with wishes would conform
If wishing understood there is no norm.
Authority is the great sin. Let him,
Let them find peace eternal. Let night’s scrim
Descend on this affair, this massacre
Preempted not, that ought not to occur.
Let men and women love, and follow ever
The dictates of their heart—no rulebook clever
Can contravene the impulse of the heart
Though world religions would condemn and thwart.
So I will sing a song in praise of love,
And let the heart abide where love does move—
As arm in arm, young beautiful buff men
May love each other. Sing this praise, O pen.
Put living love before the sacred books—
Invalidate the dogma which rebukes—
For living love must over rulebooks win:
Authority itself is the great sin.