Herod’s Sword at Sandy Hook

Morning’s light is pallid yellow
And feverish on my skin.
All is wrong
And will nevermore be right.

Children fell before the monster
And with them their teachers
All gone
Vanished in the smoky smear.

I cry
Oh, darlings, come back to us!
Come back and prove this a terrible dream!
Visions of hell!

But it is not a dream.
They are not coming back.

Encircling angels weep with us.

All the shining lights
And bright sentiment
Is scattered and shattered
With the babes that fell
On a December Friday morn.

Blood thirst
From Herod’s sword
Is never sated.

O, Sweet Jesus
Hear our prayer.