The incendiary incidents escalate, too late
      for Sister Mary Should’ve Told All.
           The snow and ash and shrapnel fall

It’s beginning to look a lot like…
Someone will pay for her insolence,

the innocence assumed will not be exhumed
or extracted. The fact is that death does not allow …peace on earth.

                                     Goodwill… will be buried! It is scary

for the children to see this carnage at such an early age.
           It does not matter. They have no concept of god to which
                     to run.

                          Gunfire mires the remnants of civility
                                           to a smoking heap of nothingness,

As the nun’s hands remain clenched
          unsaid prayers will not help her now.

                                     How can it help anyone?

I’ll be home for… a short while longer if I feel stronger or am ready to die!

                            Deafening explosions erase all memories
of a father’ voice…
           of a mother’s touch…
                     so much fordreaming of a white…

Milkflower petals mimic snowfall. The black dog’s in need of a

                    shroud covering, a blanket to hide all that remains.

Open, he declares.

                              No one dares.
                                         No one cares.

Do not open until…in the air there’s a feeling…

                                                              No one survives!

         And so this is Christmas, and what have you done?

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016

for Aubade With Burning City, by Ocean Vuong

Poetic Asides April Poem-A-Day Challenge – Day# 21: “Response or Continued” Poem


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