Fearful is a child’s violent death.

Adults comprehend the loss,

see the beginning’s end

too soon arrived;

finality crushing innocence,

hope destroyed, a future robbed;

the first taste of goodness in the mouth

retched entirely.

The heart is fully filled with sorrow -

more; despair -

by the limp body, bloodied

in conflict,

flung on the rubble,

or by the maimed

boy or girl, hopping towards

the soccer ball

oblivious of tragedy, too busy

trying the one-legged kick

to score.

We know not the mercy of a God

who may suffer more than we;

is said

to reach out loving arms.

Only that the horror remains

with us; no

remedy except in us,

the bystanders,

the type A actors

who think we’re good at getting things

done.