Saturday, April 23, 2005
And Tears Prick My Eyes
(Another of David's marvellous poems)
They tell on the radio
of the mother stabbed in front of her toddler
in the country’s safest place,
and I curse the senselessness and inhumanity,
and tears prick my eyes.
They tell of the political hopefuls
who promise selfishness, division
and the carrot of ‘more in it for you,’
whoever ‘we’ are,
and tears prick my eyes.
‘They’ make a name by destroying
the reputations of good people,
brothers and sisters of mine
who cannot repair that so broken
confidence and trust,
and tears prick my eyes.
When tears prick my eyes,
who can I cry to?
Who can I rage at, shout at,
enlist as a punch bag
but you,
broken, damaged-goods God,
chucked on the rubbish heap
for such as us,
who silently convert it,
somehow,
into the means of grace.
(C) David Grieve 2005
¶ 4:19 pm
