Monday, June 13, 2016


©2016 Rolland G. Smith

Not known, is the moment.
We never know the time.
When beckoned calls are sent
To old and those in prime.

All we can do is pray.
For those who passed above.
We know for all someday
That home is one of love.

To understand the hate
And seeing all the dead,
My mind cannot relate
When reason is misled.

Why must we go through this
So many times this life?
The dead embrace a bliss.
The living live with strife.

My questions ache with pain.
No answers do I know.
The killer was insane.
And ISIS his credo.

No answers come with thought.
No reason I can know.
We live with what is wrought

Rest in Peace, Orlando.

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