Broken Halos

Like lambs to blade in voiceless dread,

We march the path our Father led.

But in the blackest, cruelest night,

No heavens break with sacred light.

We kneel and mouth a fractured creed,

Our prayers are ash, our hopes are need.

The shepherds speak in silver tongues,

While truth lies dead, unsung, among.

No blaze awaits where tunnels bend,

No rising soul, no glowing end.

No angel comes with breath restored,

Just death, the lock, and none the sword.

And who are we? We dare not know,

Our heads cast down, our thoughts laid low.

Are we but dust, or stars made kin,

Or ghosts that rot beneath the skin?

We walk beneath a waning flame,

Not saints, but wraiths without a name.

And still the distant cannons cry,

As greed is crowned and virtues die.

The children wail, the widows pray,

While kings count coin and turn away.

No sacred dawn, no fated peace,

Just war that breathes and will not cease.

Yet time drips on, and the past lingers near,

Is there hope left, or only fear?

The children now, with hollow eyes,

Bow to the screen, not to the skies.

They craft new gods with plastic grace,

As old truths vanish, leave no trace.

New names arise, old banners fall,

Yet nothing means a thing at all.

Reviews

[Michael Sun Bear]

I thought this was, think it is, brilliant. You write in rhyme much better than I; it made me a little envious. “Like lambs to blade” what a great opening line. While not a pleasant thought it immediately seizes one’s attention. Well done. MSB

[emmajoygreen]

Milena you've created such sincere words, written them with great feelings of faith plus - in finely created stanzas. Many, many thanks for sharing. Enjoy the day.