UNSEEN RIVERS

UNSEEN RIVERS

A mighty tree once stood tall and proud.

But all alone last night it fell with a fearsome crashing sound.

Echoing the pain of its death , a pain so very loud.

Was this event of no account because no one was around?

Do events count for nothing when no one sees or hears?

Could it be that no one, not even God, really cares?

In Baltimore and Goldenbridge and such places full of fears.

How many unseen rivers flowed with children’s tears?

Even now in the silence of the night many are still weeping.

Themselves, the only witness to the awful memories that they’re keeping.

Unable to share with anyone the bitter harvest they’re still reaping.

Condemned to a private hell while the lucky ones are sleeping.

And because you do not witness what they are going through.

Does this awful reality not exist for you?

You may even hold the cruel and cynical view.

That because you haven’t seen it maybe it isn’t true.

But what of all those children all their suffering and pain.

Will their tears continue falling like the desert rain?

And because it isn’t witnessed will it all just be in vain?

And because it isn’t witnessed will it happen again and again?

Perhaps their lives and death like the tree and its fall.

Are unheard, unanswered, like a lonely heartfelt call.

To God , to life, to nature, and the complexity of it all.

To God, their lives, human nature, and the cruelty of it all. 

            Joe Cluxton 2005

Grá agus solus