Response, a poem

I wrote this poem last night.  Because there are no words, there are words.

A Solstice

Somewhere
the children live,
bullets stopped by sanity
a culture that cares, stops
carrying poison under its skin.
But here
parents are weeping
when there should be joy and
peace.
Parents rip open the sky
while politicians speak
and social media latches onto grief
for a new meme.

December
the brightest star is always a child
Always December
the child          the sun

Children lie in their hospital beds
while parents pray away
the terror of knives.
They hold on, hold on.

We are them.
December.  We are the star,
and we forget.
Always December
the brightest star is the child.

We pray to make the sun rise.


©  2012 by Robin A. Sams

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