The angel looked down
And she saw with a frown:
‘Another vigil,
Another hero gone.
She was someone’s daughter.
He was someone’s son.’

‘They could have lived,
They could have walked
The earth that now entrenches their soul.
For they could not pass by the call
Of anger displayed
From fear and dismay.’
A world gone crazy
From power we all set free:
The madness of the despot,
The necessity of riot,
The lure of uproar,
The promise of war.

Jesus turned the other cheek
Now we think that he was weak
Isn’t it funny we forget,
How he then rose from his death?
He chose not to perpetuate the thread
Of violence, and pain that still is spread
Through ages and eons.
Children with guns.
On, and on, and on.
It will never be done,
Unless we stop reacting.
See the value of not acting
With weapon, fist, or word
To dispute and fight another war.

All for the sake of nothing
But the presumption of revenge.
The enemy percieved
Seemingly out there,
Actually nowhere.
Only wrath within,
Requital for an invisible sin.
She got caught, he was killed.
They left behind an empty space,
That for years could have been filled
By their asset to the human race.

Now a mother is left to cry
And the angel sighs ‘Why?’
Joy and peace are not allowed,
When the hero is created
By the power of the crowd
And the mind is boggled
By a cause that leads to doubt.
Victory demands prevalence
And reason is no longer found.

Our minds have us deceived,
So we squander lives received
And leave ourselves bereaved.
The angel never conceived…
Jesus’ words are vehemently preached
While our hearts remain beseiged.

Countless heros gone
And the count still goes on.
‘When will it be done?
Who dares to break the spell?
Stop this self-fulfilling prophecy of Hell?’
The angel thought aggrieved:
‘Heaven could be Earth if they believed’

©2014, Myriam Heffels