It ought to be
A harbor for innocent
Victims, martyrs,
Lambs slaughtered
In flowering youth
Solace of implacable
Misfortune of being
Vale of the vow.

All those departed
With no light in candles
Melting hearts like wax
In solitude of amnesia
Of narrow graves of loam.

Those untidy souls
Homeless on this earth
At the poles of history
Waiting for their death
A welcome reprieve.

Those souls undone
Eyes not even yet open
To take a short glimpse
At the gentle light.

If time is endless avatar
It ought to be somewhere
An angelic dominion
Where pain has fled
And sorrow and sigh
For pure souls to retire
Sad, grievous and unhappy
All those innocent lambs
Taken away from earth
By those who could not
Walk in their blessed shoes.

Homo Liturgicus, Amazon. com