The Final Teardrop

Bells ring out across the rooftops of Jobel
amid the frigid dawn and stealthy fog 
—treacherous among believers, the regicides.

Violence ignores the bounds of holiness,
pouring misery into the heart of a girl who kneels
alongside the casket and one last tendril of incense.

Resounding voices, silenced by the final drop
of hope spilled among the town’s red weeping.
A seed of death, sown in a foul heart.

Incommensurable pain filtered into the mountain’s core,
sorrow coagulated within the community’s final dried tear.

Pain spreads through the lacerating gaze of the masses
as assassins strip away the last particle of peace sheltered by rain
—blood spilled in memoriam to redeem the oppressed.

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