No one has the gumption to give them up,
but no more crackers and blankets
when we stick our heads in,
souvenirs of wars flown over to forget,
rebuild ruined schools, temples, cathedrals
as if no hatred had broken mornings,
just tiny domed ducking grounds
growing small and mossy out of soft pools
leaving them musty after iron doors go missing.
The dry ones make great getaways
for young early trials wedging walls.
Once tragedy falls we’ll all be scolded
just for holding candles, so hold me
as if the world were closing its skies
leaving us in our last desperate embrace.
No one will suffer this way, let alone
be left to repeat it, until genuine caring sinks in.
Common cause waits outside on camera,
a small price to take hearts to safety,
hesitant, generic gray souls.