The Road
god
oh god forgive us
there is no spark to light the kindle
no prometheus to gift us the burning rose
and the child is cold.
lord
oh lord forgive me
there are no trees to fell for lumber
no blue stone for noah’s ark to sail across
and my child is parched.
They clasp their hands
for warmth,
in prayer,
croaking through cracked throat
oh god oh lord
we trod blind to the serrated road beneath our bare feet
deaf to the wafting stench of decaying kin
the child’s hand thin and breathless in mine own
we exhaust tasteless fire and scorching water
god oh lord
we fear
i doubt
have you given us the pithos
of pandora, the fair blameless lady
empty and devoid
of elpis, the foolish idle spirit.