A Nation Under
think they not of God?
think they not of God?
stand or lie and clutch their
photographs
they fear the endless turning under sod
knowing then how bodies frail and odd
see no light no glint even a patch
and think they not of God?
lives of wealth or beaten with the rod
reason lost in taking other paths
they fear ongoing eras under sod
men in daily nightmares forced and clawed
lone in fields or manicured in packs
and think they not of God?
speech of nonsense hate or pale applause
crafted tales of love and blood now past
the brains stray fearing quiet centuries under sod but—
still some distinguish death with
welcome awe
shed visage woven once of many masks
some thought to think and seek for
gracious God
God:
who fears no slowly sinking under
sod
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