In the Face of God – A poem.

Death is a sparrow windowing—
streak-free shine of feathers
and pulp.
We can only watch
the life tick-tick from its tiny
body. Shivers as eyes go dark.

Where is your god,
they ask.

Where is yours—
when children bulge their bellies
and suffocate on flies.
When bombers tear holes
in asphalt and flesh—
and flee.

Death is a fist bleeding—
mirrors stick like spines
and line
white knuckles clenched
at nothing.

Where is your god,
they ask.

Where is yours—
when homeless skeletons
freeze to the gutters and everyone
still walks.

Death is not the absence—
be humanity and hold the sparrow,
hold the fist.
Be there, when they ask—
where is your god.

JKolasch