For A

God is crying on this cold day;
the sun's lost its shine this morning.
All faces are hardened like clay;
the whole playground is in mourning.
The wheels on the buses have stopped turning;
even the engines are giving a sigh.
What, teacher, have the children been learning?
Whatever it is is making them cry.

Grief can shock a town like lightning,
and tears can hit the streets like rain.
Death can be so damn frightening
when you can pin it to a name.
Somewhere, a piece of fabric must have ripped
from God's interwoven blanket of prayers;
and now, a funeral home is equipped
with pink lace, Barbie dolls, and teddy bears.

But what, what about the poor souls
here, on earth, crying on her grave?
Should we dig them all eight-foot holes?
For that's all they have left to crave.
You can step off of your building block,
sweet, innocent girl of seven.
And I guess we can take back our chalk...
for there is no hopscotch up in Heaven.


~J.V.Harker~
~Thursday 30 April 2009~