Forgotten in Faith

He was just a grandfather, taking Abby home.

Listening to tales of childhood dreams,

The windshield shattered without warning.

The first victim of a bullet, as it hits bone.

In the town's churches, candles burn.

For factory victims—with public grief.

While two souls, scared and weary,

Slip through the cracks of faith's relief.

They gathered in public ceremony, candles held high.

Names of a gunman's victims read.

While grandfather and child stood watching,

As a faith community's care was denied.

"They don't care about us," she whispered.

Hands clutching his wounded arm.

The first victims on that violent day.

The weight of being pushed aside.

The sermon spoke of God's perfect plan,

Of forgiveness; of healing; of love.

But what of those who fell through the cracks?

The survivors, they weren't thinking of.

In the town's churches, candles burn.

For factory victims—with public grief.

While two souls, scared and weary,

Slip through the cracks of faith's relief.

By the window they watched their town.

Now the streets feel cold and strange.

Amazing how tragedy reshapes belonging.

Some pain remembered, some denied.

Forgotten by the faithful, but not by others.

Angering those: who see the truth unfold.

When righteous prayers skip over victims,

Who didn't fit the story, being told.

Alan Simpson