Half a million are dead in America
and what is a poet supposed to say?

We have only words,
only the icons of grief.

I have this pencil and paper,
so small in a world which I thought

was benign, beautiful and interlaced with light.
I have never felt more useless

except that I can offer what’s holy.
I can utter the word Love and hope

that somewhere on the Earth
a bell happens to ring

or a meadowlark cries out in wonder.
I’m sorry I don’t have more to give

except maybe to say
May they rest in peace.

J. Kyle Kimberlin
Creative Commons Licensed