Boston Marathon Redux

There's light and dust and acrid stench,
but it's the bombs' sound,
rooted so deeply that it's felt as much as heard,
that inspires fear.

Waves of great amplitude
violate our bodies.
The soles of our feet vibrate;
our eardrums are stretched to breaking.
Shockwaves alter every cell,
gelling our brains.

We expect the pavement to open,
to yaw to hell,
and Satan to emerge from the smoke.

Three are killed.
None of them had known three decades.
Two hundred sixty four are injured.
We honor their deaths, their wounds.

Courage overruns the blood in the streets.
Love reaches out to all strangers.
Goodness cleans away the debris,
embraces the terrified,
reaffirms law and peace.

Across the globe, daily,
it's the bombs' sound,
so deep that it's felt as much as heard,
that inspires fear.

Half a million die of conflict each year.
Millions more are wounded, sickened or starved
in consequence.
We honor their deaths, their wounds.

We strive to love our enemies.