I hear the mournful cries…

A train in the distance heralds impending danger at crossing after crossing,
and just as surely as it comes, it fades into farmland, its mournful call forgotten.
We seldom hear the real harbingers of danger, but deep in our spirit
we feel their impending presence and know the certainty of approaching peril,
despite the lack of sight or sound.
Overshadowing this perfect morning of blue skies, gentle breeze, teeming life,
there is a hollowness, a sadness, that descends as surely as the sun rises.
It is the certain knowledge of children slain by madmen, crazed by ideology
so abhorrent, so base, I scarce can take it in.
The stillness is interrupted once more, but it is the mournful cries
of mothers and fathers ascending to Heaven that I hear,
and I cannot help but ask how long they must endure.
Father of Comfort, my spirit cries, hold them in the shelter of Your embrace.
Father of Life, safeguard their shattered hearts and give them hope.
Father of Mercy, deliver them from darkness to light.

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