The Angel stood tall,

the flak jacket contrasting carefully his glowing, golden skin.

A man caressed his clattering, carnage making machine gun, 

——–

a tear crept from the corner of his eye and slowly slid down his cheek.

While the soldier considered the hungry endangered crowds for another kill.

—–

The child lay at the angel’s feet,

skin the colour of clay,

blood congealed around ebony curls.

——

The angel lifted loving eyes, hearing the whine of searching shells,.

Shoulders slumped, he felt the rage rising from open graves.

—–

Another angel held our her hand for the thousandth time and gently took

the tiny spirit’s hand of the once living child,

a soul crying and calling for Mummy.

——–

The angel bent her head, enfolding the child in love,

speaking gently she steered this unwilling soul

away from a severed past, pain and starvation.

Across the shattered homes she watched other angels,

shepherding the tiny souls free of shattered bodies.

—–

Cradling the child they returned to the roots of love,

a realm where souls are healed.

a place where souls of children play with rainbows

a source of healing

but where 

Christ weeps

and the saints pray for peace.