Except my voice, and that is also torn.
A pain that roots in near and distant years,
That hurt you well before we all were born
Cannot be answered in an instant. Yet
If we believe the world cannot be mended
We will not work to mend it. I can't let
This go by me unmourned. It is not ended
By my mourning. It will not go quietly.
It will not go in peace, though peace will lie
Where it has left. In our society
We are too quick to let too many die
And then condemn those who would stop the death
As though order and property drew breath.
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