The Will of God

Half-mad with cold and hunger
the rattling of his cup a gunshot in her ears.
She averts her eyes,
unable to stare.
His ramblings are drowning,
choking in the embrace of corruption and greed.

He is a jagged shard
in the veil of her humanity.
A thousand screaming drops of pity.
He is a ghost on the side-walk,
never truly there.

“It is the Will of God,” she is told,
but it is poison to her ears.
The secrets of man weeped out
from the drying blood on walls.

This is the world
not meant for prying ears.
Brought forth by steepled hands,
there is no choice
but to carry on.