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
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