The Unquiet Dead

Written on evening of bombing in London, and after I had found out my daughter was safe.


The Unquiet Dead

The sun succumbs to it's nightly death,
Exsanguinating all over the western sky.
The closure of this blood-stained day,
when horrors untold were visited there.
A lament being played for the unquiet dead.

Revenge can never, ever taste sweet, nor
Honeyed words prove near adequate, to
Quench the hell-fires of hate and grief
Fermenting in the souls pure agony.
An obituary written for the unquiet dead.

Orphans, pale, with questioning eyes,
Looking for answers, not to be found.
How do you explain the evil in hearts of men?
All churches are full, the graveyards too,
Saying their prayers for the unquiet dead.

The sun is now rising in it's daily rebirth
Renting the fabric of the eastern sky,
Promises of hope in a new dawning day.
Can the light of the sun, ever begin, to
Dispel darkness around the unquiet dead?