Station of the Cross

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Station of the Cross
by Beth Hollingshead

I weep.

He wept.

She weeps.

WE weep.

We weep for those we have lost,

But, hopefully, with no regard for Badge, for Religion, for Gender,

for Race, or Creed, or Country.

For, those who are lost, are lost for good and forever.

And so we weep.

Will we forget to tell ourselves that when the bomb

Drops on them, it drops on us?

We are all the same shell of God.

When one of us is cracked or broken, then so are we.

Our tears still fall in the age old pattern:

From wet eyes, to wet nose, to wet lips, to wet chin, to wet neck,

To the bloody ground, on which we travel.

Our grief crumbles even with our proud towers.

No flag, no song, no salute can bring them back.

But we remember.

And yet, when the bombs, even in revenge, drop on them

The same bombs, the same revenge, will drop on us.


Ashes, ashes....we ALL fall down.

Beth Hollingshead is a student at De Anza College