Micah’s Lament

Micah’s Lament

With a whisper heard from a distant land,
Death is coming with outstretched hand;
The city will crumble, emptying the street,
And no one will come outside to meet;
Vineyards lay untended, forgotten, lost,
And who can count the human cost?
Firm foundations of civilisation all,
Beneath a plague, crumble and fall;
The idols of money, growth and greed,
They left little space for human need;
But now brought low, a desolate heap,
Justice and mercy they seldom keep;
Wounds unhealed, this consuming fire,
And in its wake, the funeral pyre;
Now burning afar, but no one is safe:
Neither rich man nor homeless waif;
Destruction come to our land as well,
In our great cities too, so I do tell:
There is no refuge, no place to hide,
Plague has spread out, so far and wide;
I will mourn and lament, as many die,
And the people call out: why, o why?
But here I am, come weep with me,
In the midst of death, I do not flee.