Lighting a Memorial Candle for One of the Six Million
Even if I could light six million lights
I could not rekindle your light
And your’s was only one
Not one in a million
But one of six million
Snuffed out, blown out, crushed out
Lights
“Let there be light” and the world was full of light
And your light brought light to your world
Your home
Your family
Your street
Your town
Each year
Until the darkness came
And put out all the lights.
So now I stand
Match in hand
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poem by Lewis Eron
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George, Lou, Morrie and Sam - Sonnet
The four sages sit determined not be asked
To do anything but talk and talk and think
About long forgotten girlfriends and drink
Tea in paper cups or decaf coffee slowly sipped
Sweeten with saccharin, memories of girls in bombed
Out London and liberated Paris. Then they were fighting Yids
Afterwards found wives and built homes and raised kids
In peaceful suburbs, mowed lawns and dreamed
Of retiring to Florida and dying healthy, alseep in bed
No long before breakfast, playing golf or fishing
Grandchildren, palm trees, sun tans, no work, all play
But now alone, up north, with wives and siblings dead
And shattered hips and broken hearts and pishing
Through tubes, they tick off the seconds of each day.
poem by Lewis Eron
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The Song of Freedom - A Prayer Reflection on Mee Kamocha
When did we leave Egypt
And when did Egypt leave us?
When were the chains of slavery broken
And when did we finally truly feel free?
Freedom came in steps
It was part of the journey
From Egypt to Canaan
Our people took
And we can still take.
Freedom is courage and hope and clear vision
Freedom is walking to places we can’t see
Freedom in knowing that we can find food in the desert
Freedom is feeling safe though our houses are booths.
Freedom is choosing good rules to live by
And freedom is singing our very own song.
So with Moses and Miriam and all those who went with them
With all those before us who brought us to today
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poem by Lewis Eron
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Death Is No Mere Farm Hand
Death is no mere farm hand
But an agronomist, an expert,
A planner, a bureaucrat,
God's secretary of Agriculture.
Too busy for us.
Never seen except for photo opps,
Occasional interviews,
Especially during disasters, —
God’s personal observer.
So, we just get to meet the line staff,
Lifers most of them,
Angels counting off their years
Before retirement
Or transfer to a desk job.
Thank God they are often bored,
Work slowly,
Avoid deadlines.
Blessed celestial slackers
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poem by Lewis Eron
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