Hits

The hits
They keep coming
Before we can kneel to stand
The chasm
Of death surrounding
Super sinking quicksand

Yet somehow hope
A pinprick of light
Manages to come through
As the hits
And their destruction
Leave us black and blue

The reaper shows his form
Forces us to withstand the blows
Thrown like sicles at our feet
But the contusions will heal
As all things do mend
When we accept defeat

Acceptance follows pain
Joy will follow grief
And the hits they keep re-fisting
The Victrola set to stun
But we still dance
And soldier on anti-war enlisting

Hear our cry Oh God
See our steadfast march
And note the stoic form
Send a Comforter to wage it for us
Encourage healing and protect
As our faith finds strength to be reborn