God can not live here amongst the rubble.

They are buried down deep with

The Wives, the Mothers, the Children.

A museum of bones to be studied,

Lost artifacts to be forgotten.

Tilted heads search in vain for answers,

Confirming a vow taken without consent,

Pleas caught adrift in the wind.

A cold blooded hand leads through

Borders etched in ink

Where no welcome is received,

Where this impostor known as God

Speaks in a foreign tongue, and

Surreptitious sideways glances

Cast suspicions on those

Torn from Ancient lands.

All that remains is to dream of

Loved ones tending to eternal gardens,

of being, nothingness and

Inaccessible mysteries.

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