From dust
They were
Taken.
To dust
They will
Return.
Will St. Peter shake his head
When the last of them is dead?
Will he open the golden gate
Or do they deserve a different fate?
One makes murder, two makes war
Who digs the graves when they are no more?
Where must
Styx River
Take them.
Why must
They kill
Not learn.
In His image, they thought, He made them.
In whose image, are they not, forsaken?
Men in robes looked down,
Men in coats looked up.
Empiricists found no truth nor answer
And the righteous drank not His cup.
His trust
They never
Could awaken.
For the just
He will
Only yearn.