Homemade potions, healings make; these can bring forth some good.
And homemade objects can be fun. We use them, yes we should.
A homemade bomb that blasts through this, our nation and our hearts,
Could not conceive what lay ahead: debris of lives, in parts.
Invasion on a massive scale, descends into the crib.
The toys and songs that hurled the air, silenced by hatred’s bib.
It spilled over to children, where their safety now they’ve lost.
The elements that caused this bomb; too great – a nation’s cost.
We fail to comprehend how this dread force speaks with such dare.
Two wrongs do not create a right. These wounds are hard to bare.
To kill the children, aged; soldiers, who this land protect.
And then to slaughter workers too, is more than hate expects.
The calling card of Waco is distrust, but here is ours:
The calling forth of prayer to heal the deep-set, ragged scars.
In prayerful pause, please be aware that God knows this time spent.
At 9 A.M. He met a cross; He for our pain was sent.
This homemade potion left a hole; a homemade grave was dug.
Before you leave your house today, be sure to get a hug.