And the starving display their carnage through the suffocating stream of my weeping. I stroke their brow. They do not stir like a nourished child. A cherub, weary of truth, sits by the side of the road, “Will work miracles for food” reads the sign in her tiny hands. Passersby roll their eyes, “Another homeless and hungry- Get a damned job!” (Another callous human- Get a damned heart!) The road and alley and home are too filled with the starved. O! Let it rain! Let it drop a flood of love through the sun! Come rain! Come love! Descend from thy heaven, only to once more ascend, only to fall again and the starving to relinquish their carnage. © 2009 mrp/thepoetryman
(The Weaver's Song)