Читать книгу Stony the Road - Harold J. Recinos - Страница 25

I have watched events unfolding

for weeks waiting to hear a word

to comfort those who innocently

suffer like Christ without possibility

of resurrection, talking every night

with the stars that silently listen

to the terrible stories the migrants

share. I have watched the scattered

clouds roam overhead miraculously

carrying thousands of tears shed by

caged kids with carved crosses worn

around their necks, while trying my

very best to find strength to search

for sacramental bread, simple Masses,

and even thimble prayers from those

who claim to care in a world gone so

mad. I have listened to the words of

people fond of clicking their heels, felt

my heart dragged by a black Suburban

with politicians singing America the

beautiful in it, observed wingless Angels

move helplessly around shouting Spanish

names to white kin who sing the national

anthem without questioning what the future

will bring to this piece of geography called

by a colorful many home. without knowing

why I wait for truth to kick aside the mouths

full of loathing to make room for nobler voices

that will guide good people to undo

these dark hours before what remains

of America is a giant pile of ashes.