Twenty-Six
There is no easy fix,
even with prayers,
for the twenty-six,
time moved so fast,
as the shapes of twenty-six
spirits go past,
God knew his task,
hiding behind a pallid mask,
everything standing still,
his face to stone, he'd will,
hiding the grief,
the wrenching disbelief,
cries would fill the air,
children's voices reverberated in his ear,
the devastation,
the confusion,
the frustration,
God finally covered his eyes,
as souls blanketed the open skies,
and what God hated most,
is when children become ghosts
© 2012 Frank Atanacio