A consolation

When I behold injustice, hate and greed
Wherever I direct my weary gaze,
And watch religious men express their need
To give the Lord commandments, not their praise;
When I receive no answer when I send
My poems to the publishers and press,
And curse the States for failing to defend
That people whose dear land some Jews possess;
When I observe my former fears come true,
Regarding war ‘tween West and sore Islam,
My only comfort is to think of you,
For you alone, through love, such stress disarm.
And may this sonnet, though imbued with sadness,
By stressing faith in us, give you some gladness
Michael Peach
2 June 2004




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