“Sometimes.”

Recently, the Israelis started to bomb mosques in Gaza. I’ve seen a small amount of video, which I won’t repeat here…but when I felt my way through that a little tonight, I wept copiously, and prayed fervently…

and as I wept and prayed, I wrote the English sonnet that follows.

—

Sometimes

Sometimes, I am a burnt-out Gazan mosque;

Sometimes, I am the hand that holds the flare.

Sometimes, I pray my earnest prayers at dusk

And feel them melt like vapour in the air.

Sometimes, my rage is like a red, red rose

That blossoms underneath a Syrian moon.

Sometimes, it’s like a hemlock plant that grows

To choke the dreams of children gone too soon.

My fury’s not a toxin; it’s a flame

Fed by the holy, righteous, steadfast ire

Of One who gives each star its secret name

And winnows grain with forks of living fire.

Good, loving Sovereign of time and space,

Come down and help us with Your saving grace.