I shall not murder
The mankind of her going with a grave truth
Nor blaspheme down the stations of the breath
With any further
Elegy of innocence and youth.
I sit and watch the news, an old man. I
Have seen the young and innocent who die
Receive heartrending eulogy and praise,
Yet cannot compensate with all my days
For such a precious loss. In verse I write
The troubles that keep me awake at night,
Portending little for the general good
In witness though I have not understood.
Lord, let me make no claim it is thy will
That while beauty must perish I live still;
Let me not be presumptuous as some men
That my continued living serves thee when
The innocent, the beautiful and young
Get early felled, as randomly death stung
According to the least coherent means
Played out in most horrific, violent scenes.
That I live on’s an incongruity
When all the world has little use of me,
Nor even what I witness, what I write
Can pierce the shadow’s pall with some brief light;
Yet this is all I know to do, and serve
My numbered craft, from which I do not swerve
Believing that the progress of the heart
Must be recorded in my craft or art.
Insofar that I fail to mourn, I pray
To set parameters that others may.