How can one define this moment in time, when human beings torn apart by nature’s wrath ceases to be nothing more than fodder upon an open field. Were graves become not monuments at all but a part of a landfill no marker donned?
Beneath the rubble lies a child, a man a woman, a story untold a silent voice to be heard know more. Are they to be forgotten as the tattered paper, milk bottle among the pile of clay?
Where they not a bright flower a hug a gentle hand shake, lesson fallen from the class room floor, church bells ring no one there to hear the toll. Empty glass upon a broken plate a toy its shattered porcelain face.
A walk along the avenue of stars can you see the fireflies a drift in the night sky, and the earth shakes.
The dump trucks roll in and deposit the days waste an arm a leg a body with no face. A broken teapot and a red wagon wheels falling off. Ragged scarf covers the drivers mouth he tries to breathe away, shock upon his face damning the day the earth did shake.
Broken TV screen once housed the balance of a daydream, to be human among the scattered stones, gone are those green fields, and we all pray that humanity will come back down from the hills, just stay for a day.
And I like you shall simply wish it all away. When the medley of charities their coffer filled have given their relief away, how was it spend will mean more too many than these horrible days.
And in a year the dump site will yield a park, will we talk about those lost all the broken hearts, and those that have open up their homes, and shared the food from their plate, the angles will bless their hearts and fill their days with Gods grace. Can you hear me! I do not know your name, can you hear me, I’ll never truly know your pain, can you hear me what was your name.
How can one begin to define this moment in time.