Thursday, August 29, 2013

To Mr. Assad

"The nations raged,
but your wrath came,
and the time for the dead to be judged,
and for rewarding your servants, the prophets and saints,
and those who fear your name,
both small and great,
and for destroying the destroyers of the earth..."


Who are you, O man,
to lift a hand
against the God that made you,
or His stamp
imago dei
pressed upon the clay about you,
inscribed
in faces cold and ashen,
row on row
the old
the young
lie quiet.
Shuttered eyes
and plastic sheets
cry out like the blood of Abel,
and you,
destroyer of the light of life,
destroyer of your soul,
defacer of that image in yourself
more than in those at rest,
where will you go?

The drums and guns,
may rumble menace,
the mortars, bombs,
may all fall all about you
and you may
survive this day
and many other;
yet there is one
like to no other,
with twilight in the morning as at night,
a day of awful calm,
of power unsheathed and unopposed,
of recompense and justice undebated,
and when you stand,
O man,
before that great white throne,
where will you go?

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