How many wind up
spitting at the rising sun
because to them
it doesn’t mean hope
but just another day to dread
the known and unknown,
the lingering of the beleaguering,
or simply the callousness of indifference?
Thinking of them and the depths
from which they cry
or the horrors they deny,
I pray the psalmist’s plea
for the ending of their waiting,
of their suffering, of their grieving,
and yes, their numbness, too.
I pray for hope to break through
with earth-shaking change,
clearer than day.