Poem: Prayer

We are uneasy, living
in such mundane luxury as this:

The privilege of stasis,
waiting on the last to die
like the first-born sons of Egypt
while we at home watch dust build
over dust, ashes to ashes.

We, rich
– for now –
in hygiene and health
know not the pain of that final Facetime,
a window without closure,
yet we’re all in this together.

While heretics sacrifice
humanity to false gods,
not in search of promised land
but to maim our immortal soul
and take from us our hope and love

And yet, throughout, we faithful pray
for salvation, sought in how we stay
and wait for the glory of a warm embrace.

Cork, 1 February 2021

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