Do not let us go into that darkness with bare hands.
If you do, we shall claw our way out,
leave our nails on the back of the beast
that bears your face.
We know you and your caress
even as you pass
judgment upon our children
who are yet to know anger,
Grief with flailing arms,
solitude gone astray
among the ruined fabrics
of our homes.
When will you allow us
time and space to build
our own rooms of healing
that do not bear your name?
How can we, when every day you cast
the weight of your shadows on our lands,
bleed us of what lies beneath our feet,
speak to us with the language of corpses.
With eyes seared by your weapons
staring at all you have stolen
that can never be returned.