Boston Marathon, 2013

Shards of smoke and fire,
a burning blasting of glass and metal,
yells of horror:
a shock wave of disbelief
burst out across the street,
through the city,
around the world.

The blood of friends and strangers
mixed in the mingling
of limbs and lives
separated from bodies,
wives and husbands,
children and old men
staggering, slumped
on pieces of pavement.

Pressing through the smell and thunder
of pierced and seared flesh
came a sudden meshing of care,
spurning concern for self
and whatever else might come
after the second explosion.

Men unknown to one another,
women who had never met,
ripped shirts into strips for tourniquets,
lifted shrapneled limbs,
shouldered the limping wounded,
gave what care and comfort could be given.

Even in the deepest,
most dreaded acts of evil,
love pours forth
into the wounds of others.

H. Arnett

About Doc Arnett

Native of southwestern Kentucky currently living in Ark City, Kansas, with my wife of twenty-nine years, Randa. We have, between us, eight children and twenty-eight grandkids. We enjoy singing, worship, remodeling and travel.
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