Is it any wonder
that the injured cry out
and the broken hearts

For what can wholeness say
to the fractured?
What fellowship
does giddiness share
with grief?

Is there yet a balm
in the universe
that can cover the wounds
of the dirty and lost
the self-seeking sinners
reaping the harvest
of flawed decisions
and debauched dreams?

The crushed and broken
lie lonely and scattered
upon the battlefield
begging for a word
of comfort
as the beautiful hurry past
averting their faces
by the spectacle
of shattered bodies
and the sound
of strangled

So when anguish
seeks its own
and crawls on its elbows
to lay its head
in the lap of the dying
it is only because sympathy
is better
than judgement.