Amid the carnage & ruin . . .
An innocent child lies dead.
All is silent & lost forever
On this unholiest of nights.

What makes it worse is
That it's the night of Jesus' birth,
But that fact is lost & forgotten
In the face of the evil that transpires.

Redemption is in extremis . . .
As the onlookers lose interest
In the child's mortal, but angelic face,
And disappear gradually into the darkness.

While those that committed
This horrendous deed
Of bloody -- yet accidental -- violence,
Now gaze on this benighted world
With pitiless, bloodshot eyes . . .

Eyes that see nothing less than
The moribund shades of hell. . . .
Their cries go unvoiced & unheard
As they each fall bloodily from grace.

No one else sees or knows anything
Of their eventual torment & demise,
Except for one lone, maniacal raven
Circling & laughing in the wayward sky.


© Kris Bailey
8-2-22