quatorzieme (a sonnet)

The dead are cooling still; the coldest hearts
are trying to put a spin on what we know:
That someone dealt the French a cruel blow.
And this is how the terror cycle starts.
Obscenity, to grieve by taking life,
and blasphemy to call for cruel acts.
We haven’t even gotten all the facts
except that here lie husband, child, or wife
or mother, father, sister, brother. Gone.
It’s not our place to tell them how to mourn.
All we can do is comfort their forlorn,
stay up our night to stand with them at dawn.
Extend not rhetoric but sympathy
for they have suffered greatly — just as we.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.