The rain fell in sheets through the day.
At night the thin canvas drenched ripped.
Adam could not sleep, the shifting clay
Of his dreams turned to terror,
And curled into my curve he lay
Shivering, reliving the horror;
The earth watered by blood, his parents’ -
Skinned alive, wrapped in their own entrails,
Hanging a bait for the ancients,
Vultures wheeling, wings wind filled sails,
Waiting for the crossing, death’s sigh
To release the tormented soul’s I -
I found him lashed to a barbed post,
A note nailed proclaiming his life
Had sprung not from the pure, the host
Living inside The Book, its pages rife
With judgements for those people lost,
Their fate delivered with a dull knife.
I carried him back to my torn tent
Pegged among hundreds, all innocent,
Their stories twittering the internet
A moment’s distraction, briefly
Engaging, killed immediately
By posts of puppies which clearly
Matter more than an orphaned boy.
Above us skies weep, breasts broken.
He rests folded into my folds.