GONE TO REST
By John Herlihy

I don’t know what to say when all have gone to rest;
Wanton destruction achieved, we are put to the test.
We once lived in our villages conducting simply lives,
Farming land, tending olive trees, each of us survives.
We wander aimlessly, utterly destitute and forlorn;
We simply wish to heaven we had never been born.

The child is shell-shocked; he has seen the other side;
He simply sits in a daze; he has no place at all to hide.
Totally benumbed into a cloud not of his own making,
Hands resting on his lap lifeless, his heart forsaking,
Besmeared in the grime of war and covered in dust,
He is totally bereft of feeling, has lost all sense of trust.

Sometimes dreams awaken us suddenly in our sleep,
Before falling to sleep once again our serenity to keep.
The child lives a waking dream as if seeing a wild beast,
Now he settles down into the well of silence at least.
Does he know he is alive? Does he want to keep living?
He no longer has the capacity for weeping or laughing.

Wanton destruction is achieved, we are no longer blest;
When such things come to pass, there is no place to rest.
We could wander the world searching the reason to know,
And never find the answer that only Heaven can bestow.
Our hearts now finally laid bare, with nothing left to show;
A way of life now vanished, gone to rest like last year’s snow.