Poem

I used to be a poet
did I really know it?

From my vision,
there came a flood of questions
to which I aimed to answer with no precision

Questions remain,
but will I
should I
refrai from answering them all

People caught in their common webs of meaning
that construct and destruct
a world where goats and people are killed
because of witchcraft

Then my own quagmire,
where to read about prisoners or wicked stealth
of people lurking
to kill one
for their body parts
or because their girlfriend broke their heart

O Lord, save us, I implore your Sacred Heart
and thank you Lord for the Arts.