Crying

smoke fills the air but there is no burning

it stings the eyes, rasping the throat

but there is nothing to make it stop

there are people who go beyond explaining

shaking in their boots, clinging to faith

they think they have won but they don’t know us

truth be told, we don’t know them

and question facing us all is, “why?”

what do we do when we say, “enough?”

when blood and vengeance are too much

little groups go about their business—

the business of taking lives, burying secrets

we don’t know why, we just know

after the fact, not before

and we proclaim we are the righteous

walking our path, living our lives

and this we know: the spirits are crying

Listen

What do we know as the eternity rains downward?

how many people will die in our ignorance?

tell us a remembrance, something that is new

make it something the youth of the world can share

for our lines are being drawn in the sand

our vision is weaker than we had hoped

but we can still hear the bombs and the gunfire

and the innocents as they sleep in their beds

But it is like this in all places in the world

there is no place to run to safety

until we hear the message, the cries, the burning

what do we understand after a plague of locusts

we have prepared to offer up our first-born sons

a fair exchange for our years of blindness

do we give this anger to our opponents

or do we save it for the next great battle

no more pretty pictures, only our resolve

to keep ourselves safe and listen for the message

something only the quiet can hear