Rest in Peace

He lifted his hand as if to bless the crowd

and all I could think was that with his words

he changed the world.

They stood still in their mania long enough to listen.

In his innocence he didn’t know.

Or maybe he knew it was already too late

Maybe he folded under the responsibility’s weight.

He should have shed tears

that could not be forgotten

on the left edge of tomorrow

but was shot in the full sun of his day.

Another Christ?

Another cross?

It got their attention last time, didn’t it?

Graphic enough and on the cusp of a different fall.

So easily led, these sheep he called.

The thought made me wonder at what exact point on this line in time

we failed to stand up to the lethargy and intimidation  

that bred yet another generation

of silent majority Americans on their knees

turning the age of peace into a world of too many tombstones

and too much greed.

Our social structure crumbles

Even our poor planet grumbles

At what we’ve done

And failed to do.

The anchorman’s makeup runs as he sashays

and tells us what irrelevance is important today.

How heavy the fears

when we bow to our peers;

turn our backs to the obvious, we’re stupidly oblivious

to the fall of yet another Rome,

the place of ultimate self-indulgence

that is what we call home.

The young ones will hurt from what we don’t believe,

From what we choose to accept and fail to perceive.

When did it become too heavy a weight to bear,

to fight what monsters we know to fear?

Is it a lost cause now that we can see catastrophe's approach

in the ice sheets that melt, the dictators that boast?

Maybe it’s their belief that makes them face death for their ideals 

while too many of us give up on the possibility goodness can be real:

Harmony and respect within one space,

A good God who wipes tears from each face.

Give me liberty or give me death?

Rest in peace, Abraham, Martin and John

You did all you could do.

There’s no one left to take your place

And we’re not willing to renew our faith.

It breathed its last breath with yours.

© 2008 C. Harter Amos