It won’t end on that bed of nails.
It won’t end in that pit of hell.
There are too many songlines
in the wilderness
sung by messengers
from a far off light
in the night sky.
There are too many succulents
in the wild barren wilderness
offering nourishment to angels
and activists of the Spirit.
There are too many candles
in the dark night,
and there are too many hands
that are strengthened by this pain.
The walls of hate
do not eclipse the rising light.
If you look gently in the street
you may see the glow
reflected in the eyes of the souls.
Donated to Jewish Distribution Committee