This one is for everyone.
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I have not dwelt on the latter things;
"why haven't you dwelt, and pondered in your heart?" they asked of me;
"Because when I think of all our hands have wrought,
whenever I let my spirit consider long the deeds of men;
every time I hear the cry of blood,
and the poverty of children,
and the fear of women,
and the terror of all men--
when grief strikes my soul,
down to the quick,
turning my bones to milk,
the storm battering down on me,
causing the rivers and seas to rise,
breaks the barrier of ocean tide
and bursts the endless dam;
God above, hear our prayers,
forgive what us what we've done--
"You ask of me, 'why don't you lament?'
and I say, the sea is dry,
and all the creatures of its womb exposed,
even dread leviathan,
and kraken mighty beast.
When the ship-graves give up their dead,
spewing them on the ground,
when the devils gasp for air,
and the proud are left panting,
then will end my lament,
then my soul will rejoice,
for justice like tsunamis will roll,
mercy rain down a hurricane force,
and truth will heal up the bitter gall,
and silence the toxic one."
"Lament! Wail! Wear sackcloth and tear your clothes!" I'm told,
and they cannot see me weep.
God divide between you, the humble and the upright;
the blood of Abel's sons,
screams from the ground;
they will not be comforted;
they are mourning still.
Take us to the River from whence all oceans spring;
take us to the City where Death is hanged from a tree,
oppression and violence and wickedness,
bitterness and weeping cease;
Take us to the one great tree,
whose leaves are for healing, and whose fruit forever;
step down from the throne of majesty,
lift our faces up;
how I long for lion and lamb to play,
for the last foe of ours to die;
how I long for Rachel's children,
Abel's sons, Abraham's daughters,
to find comfort and upturned face;
God forgive what our hands have done;
forgive us, Lord, we pray.
Shaleh.
