Golden Heart

I see my mother’s tired eyes,

staring up into the sky

reaching toward the face of God

and lighting fire in the night.

She prays for her dying friends,

she mourns for her fallen kin,

she hopes for the faceless citizens

on the lonely streets of war.

But why does she care

if an unknown girl falls?

Why does she weep

when another cries?

None know what the future holds

(though my mother seems

to prophesize.)

I hear my mother’s pleading words

as she begs for Heaven’s aid:

our world

our lives

our very being, she knows

are not but a mere part

of His plan, and

He is the only one

who can give us mercy.

Why does she mind

if some faceless boy fails?

Why does she sob

when another dies?

When so many hearts lay

chained and locked,

so many tears unshed,

her face is streaked

with their blood and smoke;

her heart lays open by His key.