Like a slow-rolling fog
leaving mist on the meadow,
or a speeding train
slowing only enough
to collect, and gather,
you come,
leaving those behind
missing,
a piece lost,
a heart torn.
Like a knife for some,
you injure first,
spreading pain
and sadness,
offering slight hope,
still, you come,
collecting what’s yours,
stealing,
a family member,
a friend.
Like an unjust law,
you let others
wield you,
on wings of hatred,
and destruction
you come,
harming so many,
you become,
a deadly weapon
of racism.
You, are a thief
in the night,
a kidnapper
by day,
no matter the hour,
you come,
taking freely
what you want,
without remorse,
you amass.
Across the ages
you leave scars,
wounds deep,
and aching
and yet, still,
you come,
your thirst
never quenched,
always parched
and wanting more.
And we, the nations,
mourn in sadness,
and demand change,
begging you to stop,
but still,
you come,
leaving us empty,
we watch helplessly,
and can only grieve,
as you take what’s ours.
Yet, our fight
is not over,
we know you,
we understand the cycle,
change will begin,
and yes, you come,
but you will take less,
and we, the people of the world
will stand ready,
and be on guard.
We know,
you, are not the end,
but rather
a beginning,
so we ready
and you come
and on angels wing
we will fly home
and be at peace
when death rolls in.
© Leslie C Dobson
If you liked this poem, you can find additional ones on the poetry page of Leslie’s website.