Tuesday, July 19, 2005

Mourning

blood is splattered on the stones,
and minds are filled with such unknowns.
crooked do the doors hang,
through the halls mourning rang.
tears are falling from the sky,
as children think they might die.

our hope has fallen come the storm,
the air is chilled, blood is warm;
we huddle together in this fright,
that has come in darkest night.

will the skies again be blue,
can our hope be grown anew,
will this darkness ever end,
can we hold until then?

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