How can we celebrate in this terrored age?
Guns and bombs and treacled happy songs.
It’s all gone wrong.
I don’t understand. I wait and I grieve.
I hope for reprieve, for peace, for a sign
That we’re not alone.
We need more than a manger when our children are in danger
Shepherds and angels are a pretty tale
But our life isn’t going well and we’re supposed to sing Noel
It’s not OK to be this way.
Tossed by believing unreasoned, heart-wrecked on sandy hope
Children hide and the Savior stands aside
In the mourning vigil of delayed advent.
Still hope belies the mind’s despair
And divine love keens in the ruined air.
Thanks for putting words to despair. (The first two words and the last two of the final stanza remind us of two Sandies, the school Sandy Hook and hurricane Sandy. Oh, and in the middle of all the familiar and seasonal and biblish/biblical words, you play with some novel and not-so-common words. It’s a tough cyber-psalm, rightly so.) Thanks for putting words to hope.
Thanks, JK. How I miss our old badinage.