The Grief of a Million Mothers

Sadness oozes now
Seeping out from my pores
Like slime from a dying snail
It wells up unrequested
Like bile or some putrid protestation

There is nothing to be done
There is no cure or prophylactic
There is no medication
That can heal or palliate

The birds sing as if they were not caring
The wind blows as if nothing else could have been done
The sun shines and seems to move with no consternation
The grass grows even though, it too, awaits the blade

There’s nothing to do but await fate’s unfolding
The Battle of the Somme
Slaughtered millions
And Pork Chop Hill was only purchased
With human blood
And victories won with the sweat and toil of others
Costs you nothing when the waiter brings the bill

And hatred demands a price that cannot be measured
And lust wreaks havoc where peace had chosen once to live

And love is the only balm worth using
Nothing else can heal the loss of severed limbs
And mercy, in the end, is what all of us are seeking
For sorrow will not leave us
For anything less

dg

7/11/20