Where Heaven Used To Be

A child climbs on to a crowded bus,
He squeezes toward the back.
Around the middle,
Finds a seat and settles.
No one notices his backpack.

As his wait begins, more people cram in,
There’s hardly room to breath.
Two Jewish men,
Look down at him,
And smile as they start to leave.

It’s a busy day, before a holiday,
Most people just want to get home.
Many have fasted,
Others outlasted,
The scores of those traveling alone.

A siren screams by, just outside,
As the driver closes the door.
Folks try to see,
The calamity,
Exactly what the excitement’s for.

As the bus pulls away, those standing sway,
They’re packed like a can of sardines.
As the driver shifts gears,
Thoughts turn to prayers,
Anticipation turns tensions serene.

As it nears the next stop, those inside move up,
A large crowd is anxiously gathered.
People move forward.
Prepare to unboard.
No one cares about each others matters.

The boy closes his eyes and leans to one side,
Bows his head as if in prayer.
No one seems to notice,
His undeterred focus,
His solemn, unemotional stare.

His innocent face, seems out of place,
He cannot be more than thirteen.
As it comes to a stop,
All the lambs line up,
And in an instant they’re blown to smithereens.

On this solemn day, before a holiday,
A child climbed on to a bus.
A premeditated suicide,
Where scores of people died,
An act that makes no sense to us.

In a land long forlorn, where Jesus Christ was born,
Somewhere far beyond the Red Sea.
God’s laws are forsaken,
Lives brutally taken,
In a place where heaven used to be.


Copyright © November 2009
Kevin Mooney

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