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
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