Holy Week

I sit in horror as I watch the flames
dancing around as they lick at her stones…
The smoke billowing from her sacred  bones…
Paris…the West…will never be the same.
And in the city streets, the moslems cheer
Declaring their bloodthirsty god is great
And that the infidels deserved this fate!
While all of France weeps, the moslems just sneer.
Suspicious, a fire on Holy Week...
I can’t help but wonder what they will say
To try to make the outrage go away...
Will we ever find the truth that we seek?
What scapegoat will they find to take the blame
For the fire they set at Notre Dame?

Rest Stop

I stopped by a rest area today,
Even though it took me out of my way.
I sat in the lot a moment or two,
Not really sure what I wanted to do.
Eventually, I just walked around
Taking in all of the sights and sounds.
I found a wooden bench by a old tree
Surrounded by flowers and buzzing bees.
And I sat down there, and I closed my eyes.

Memories swirled in my mind like a mist
Of times when we stopped at places like this
To rest, to play, stretch our legs or eat,
Or just to explore: a traveler's treat!
We’d talk to other folks on their own trips
Forming fast, yet fleeting, sort of friendships.
As all these memories around me swirled,
I opened my eyes, fell back to the world,
The present one...and I sat there and cried.

I sat on that bench near all afternoon.
Though I knew I needed to be going soon,
I couldn’t really bring myself to leave
When this patch of land was helping me grieve…
Finally, when I could no longer stay,
Without a good excuse for my delay,
I walked slowly back to get to the lot,
Abandoning there some of the pain I brought,
Finally feeling as though we’ve said bye.

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