Losing our country one child at a time..

Losing Our Nation One Child at a Time

America, our wounded land,

where children’s blood runs free

when shooters take their lives away

hiding behind guns so cowardly

America, our wounded land, 

where store clerks and teachers bravely

walk in each day as front-line warriors

while others declare guns make them free

America, our wounded land, 

God shed God’s tears for thee

and weeps for the good 

that is becoming harder to see

America, our wounded land, 

where voices are raised for change immediately

and wise ones know more tears will come

because America is losing her dignity

America, our wounded land, 

where whiners declare their rights selfishly

but the Black and the gay and the “other than me”

are targets for hate and can no longer be free

America, our wounded land, 

I truly grieve for thee…

—Chris Pepple ©2022

The Days

This was written for a dear friend who shared her thoughts with me…I heard you…I’m so sorry for the sorrow and struggles you are facing…Just know I heard you and I love you…I put some of your words into a poem:

The Days

 

The days pass by so quickly

Some without the joy

I thought I would always carry with me…

I try to recapture it

by hearing your voice call my name

as you did all through my childhood…

calling me for meals or church

or to remind me of a chore…

calling me to share news

or just to check in

You walk with me

even on days when we

are not together…

On days when I am closed

in an office with numbers

swirling around in a tornadic frenzy

until I gather them to their

cells on the spreadsheet before me…

You are with me when I worship…

Even when you are in a church miles away

or resting at home because

you can no longer make the trip…

You are with me on the drive to see you

in a home that will always fill my heart and soul

with thoughts of family and meals

and prayers and time that seemed to stop

for just a moment when we laughed…

I cannot slow time

I cannot heal

But I can love

I can remember

I can live out

all that I was taught

and hold on to

all that I cherish

and pass along

the stories to

all who will listen…

And I will remember…

And I will love…

–Chris Pepple ©2017

The Sounds

candle

The Sounds

by Chris Pepple – 2017

The sounds of the words of hate

came first—

the name calling

the threats both aloud and

whispered to a passerby…

Then it was the fighting

in the streets—

the fist fights among

different groups

then knives

then guns…

Then it became real,

turning hate into a war—

winner keeps all…

The shelling came next…

the bombs rocked our houses

and our schools and places of worship…

No place was safe…

Then came the cries of children

and mothers calling out the names

of children who would

never answer again…

and husbands and brothers and

and wives and sisters

and best friends and lovers…

Then the weeping before

the enormity of our pain

devoured our ability

to feel much less grieve…

So there was silence

as if we were already dead—

dead to those who claimed victory,

worthless to those who didn’t want

to touch our wounds or

caress our shoulders weighted

with unimaginable memories

of the sounds of the places we left—

the places we once called home…

©2017 Chris Pepple