Against sadness:no new creator weeps
Nor lounges in black melancholy deep
Was Van Gogh senseless to permit his muse.
For even genius ,was the price too steep?
We see the yellow chair but not his views
Nor his mind where learning made strange leaps.
Nor was his journey broadcast on the news.
Happiness or joy is hard to find
When we rest, the News lies on our minds
Yet men are cold towards the slaughtered priest
His nose a beak of bone in old face lined
Now Muslims go to Mass and join Christ’s feast
What rages in the mind make men kill thus?
In Syrian wars the innocents fare worse.
But these are our near neighbours so we weep
And wonder how to end the frightening curse
The sins we once committed hold us deep
We hold our hands out, thinking we’ll be nursed