God Have Mercy

• Anna Marie McIntyre, Grade 12
• Poetry
• 2009

With a deafening sound the hands of time
Tick slowly round.
With each waking hour - and on as the moon howls,
Our dismal world grows steadily worse.
Blood tumbles towards the ground,
The earth in fits of rage,
Until the soil burns and flows
Like the emerald stench of man.
And we wait;
Forever waiting;
To be released from the burning shackles
Of our sins.