Days of pain

Days of Pain

And there was sadness
and so many cried in the abyss of despair;
our souls and lives knew of ghostly rain of death
and of caves of doom so near,
so close to the labyrinths of fear—
 the way we were one day,
no more, no more.
But not at Xmas time, Hanukkah  o Ramadhan.
 Not at home today under the greenest tree ever grown in all the land.
For hope and greater deeds
and blessed mistletoes adorn
the most sacred time of year—
the warm of all Kabbalahs
keep alive the land of Israel…
—upon the tortured plains of all Fagan,
hope to resolve the darkness
of the land—  armed in wait,
the hordes in Iraq
don’t know night or day—
yet the furies seem to die
of death itself—
and in the darkness of the heart.