Raging confusion 
threatens to steal one's sanity,
as bitter tears flow like blood
through the fiber of one's being,
and uncertainty inhabits the paths
once filled with love and laughs.
A simple glance: desolation looms,
many displaced, hearts shattered like glass,
no hospitals to fix a broken bone,
and as washed-out souls croon
death's final song, 
their tears will give them strength to hold on.

	Psalms of joy and peace, we take for granted. 
	
Is all that remains 
all that shall be?
Or may peace be spoken
through gritted teeth,
allowing the kiss 
of dawn to ease
fate's hands, that troubles 
may no more be?
Hearts ‘n souls yearn for the day
that troubles may no more be.

	And psalms of joy and peace, we take for granted.