What is holy about
this day after disaster
this time of utter defeat
this era of dissolution?
All our energies
our hopes
have been killed--
horribly killed.
We may try to deny
our role in the effort
to erase our fingerprints
to cast blame on others.
We may question
whether it was all worth it
whether what we believed
to be true, was true.
The day stretches out
from Friday's agony
to the utter darkness
of midnight.
But if we can hold on
to one filament of hope
one wisp of belief,
dawn will come
again and again.
I'm sharing this with my friends, particularly to classmates who are poets, as well. I'll take it to Easter sunrise with son, John. Thanks for living the hope, cousin.
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