Author Joseph Heywood
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On the Randomness of Death
[Deer Park, August 16, 2010]

We sit atween coming, going, night, day,
Rain, fair, now known, the next now not ever.
Terns all day, diving to make their kills,
Attacking without warning, random strikes
On unknowing victims intent on life.
And I wonder if this is man’s god too,
Taking joy in homicide (surely that
From the victim’s perspective) to scream
With a beast’s voice, no angels in this
Just murder we ascribe to bad genes, luck
Run its course, disease, facts without truth.
We need to ask this gods to speak out loud
Check if his voice is hoarse, then truth will out.


 
 
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