Chautauqua

This is where I should be writing a poem:

a lament for all that was, for all that's missing now:

freedom, justice, trust,

tolerance.

All those missing things

that might have stopped a man,

stopped that leap upon the stage,

stopped that knife-thrust,

that almost-murder,

frozen in the act.

That was the knife

that slashed the fabric of Chautauqua,

the peace, the thoughtfulness, the beauty of this place.

Torn by a man who believed he was serving God,

who believed he did God's will...but

who can lift their hand and call it God's justice?

Who can know the mind of God?