The dead were fortunate

They screamed in fright
They ran with force
They swam against death
They stayed afloat...
Blood-less like so many others

Babies cry
Mothers weep
Fathers lie motionless
Ashore...

Relatives and friends
Away...away...away
Swept by the tide
Buried in the floor of oceans

The living lives on
but nothing more like zombies
Dead soul, shattered heart
Eyes open wide

The cries continue still
But no more tears
Except only out of fears
No food, no shelter
No nothing...

Old folks sang through the night:
the dead were fortunate
no burden to carry on
indeed they were fortunate.

Angels on the hill

Up the hill they ran
Fearing the giant tide
Up the hill they lay
Injured, in pain and disgust

Up the hill they sat
Trying to understand, the now
barren land
Up the hill they cried
Reminded of such bleak future
Fate has brought

Up the hill they saw
An angel tending to
the wounded, the scared
curing bruised and scarred hearts
with smiles and lights of love

Angels gathered round the hill
Proving humanity exists still
Together they pondered;
the injured, the disgusted, the wounded
and the scared,
The waves carried in too many sorrows
true indeed...
and yet, it has also revealed
the angels in masques living among us

Angels on the hill
God has given you more hearts, more hands, and more smiles
Most importantly,
He has sent you to us...