Hardly

I can hardly give voice to all
the little pinpricks of horror
  that make up the moments
    hour by the hour,

and finally bleed our soul dry:
from a war waged without remorse,
  to an abused child
    without recourse;

from nightmares that haunt the little,
to teeth that bite agony;
  from the life that ends itself,
    to one ended briefly;

from slaves crushed by hated labor,
to women trapped in loveless marriage;
  from envy's painful embers,
    to the grief of miscarriage,
      I am at a loss.

I shudder at the cross in the wild,
raised on high and visible:
  none can avoid it
    nor make it fictional -

Our fate is sublime and terrible;
the will of God is invincible.

Featured image: ‘Christ on the Mount of Olives,’ by Francisco de Goya (1819), image in the public domain.

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