eggshells

It is God that I see
God that I see
Burning.
On his cross - 
That I see.
Do you understand the destruction,
the clasp of hands
the raised fists
as light flows like blood?
The martyrs.
The martyrs.
And God is dead.
And a little swallow song
is nothing is nothing
sweet nothing
in the rain.
The laughter sweet laughter
Of marching armies
The boots of a thousand men
And their teeth lie scattered.
Eggshells.
God turns his back.
And the devil stands laughing
with a gun at your head.


August 23, 1994
© Lela Kaunitz