A song for the weary

"Faça" by Jeronimo Sanz licensed under CC BY/ Cropped from original

"Sing to me,” I said,

“Because my soul is tired from the battlegrounds.

From voices shouting over broken bodies

Of wave-washed children,

And I’m drowning in seas of apathy and fear.

My heart is spent from weeping for a people

Whose children lie on cold and unjust streets,

And as we argue over words

Their names scroll out indictments we ignore.”

“Sing to us,” I pled.

“Because this world is sick from stench

Of war and hatred, greed and pride,

And the songs it sings are voices that declaim,

With wrath-dipped poison in each word.

We need to hear the quiet voice

The servant song that breaks with tears of grace,

That binds the wounds and heals the hearts

And pegs the circle wide for all to sing.”

“Sing to us,” I begged,

“Of a world born new and a kingdom coming,

One even now already on its way.

Sing to us the songs of hope,

Of setting our boats out against the tides,

With God-flung stars to lay our course

Our chain of voices grows and swells

To sail in darkness, lights aglow

Bearing strands of mercy towards the night.”