If nothing else, let me love the children

Shaken,
when all is dead and nothing moves,
not as in the graveyard, wherein the dead have found their place and there is peace.
No, I mean a wandering death behind the eyes,
when a man has shriveled so,
covered now in spines, pointing one way a helpless child,
another a derisive bastard.

Whenever I think to pray I search for a dead God,
and when I pray I find Love.
If you are willing, you can take this from me.
Always you say it is my choice, but I don’t know how to let go.
Show me what I must do and I will do it.
Let me hear what I have not yet been able to hear.

Let me be the Love to which I pray.
Let laughter flow from the belly,
and let the games be unplanned.
And a woman’s touch once more inviting.

If nothing else, let me love the children.