There is no comfort
A mother:
There is no comfort. What comfort can come,
when neither here below nor up on high
are love and justice more than martyrdom?
Who cares what may, or may not now become
of me, whom nothing new can horrify?
There is no comfort. What comfort can come
now my whole joy is gone? How wearisome
that nowhere in this world, until I die,
are love and justice more than martyrdom.
Tell me in truth if you can offer some
crumb of real hope to me from earth or sky.
There is no comfort. What comfort can come
from graveyard or from crematorium
to one like me, with no tears left to dry?
Are love and justice more than martyrdom?
I stand in accusation, though I’m dumb
with grief, and can’t speak any more. Why try?
There is no comfort. What comfort can come?
Are love and justice more than martyrdom?
Richard Burns
