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