by Christine Kimel
O Lord, we suffer plague
Friend and foe alike fall ill
And die, untouched by human hands
The dead pile up
Few grieve at their graves
They go to their rest unsung
The hungry, the oppressed, the victims of violence to body and mind
The children, hidden and afraid
Their cries rise to You, unheard by human ears
Our hymns are silent
No longer do we gather to praise Your name
Our priests pray in empty spaces alone
We fear this curse carried through the presence of others
Each one of us an island, hounded by storms
With no help on the horizon
We weep bitter tears in our loneliness
We cry for the feel of arms around us
The soft touch of the hand, the kiss