The Guardian

I believe in angels. A host of them must be hovering over Newtown, CT after the recent tragedy, seeking to aid and comfort the living who lost so much. The cry of anguish and grief must have shaken the Gates of Heaven as the nightmare unfolded. My thoughts immediately went to the side of the guardian angel assigned to watch over any or all of these children and I began to wonder what he would do, what he would feel, and how he would react to an atrocity of this magnitude.

What follows is what my mind's eye saw, as it followed that angel, as it watched The Guardian on that dreadful day.

Mick

The Guardian

The guardian stood, silently weeping,
His glorious wings were shaking and furled ,
For children he'd watched over while sleeping,
Were suddenly ripped away from their world.
He'd seen the young man with guns attacking,
An ice pick of violence in his mind;
Felt the shell of young innocence cracking,
The eyes of childhood gone suddenly blind.
In an instant twenty young souls went home,
Their safety was no longer in his care.
His mission had now instantly become,
To comfort and aid the survivors there.
He gave solace to all who would listen,
His golden whisper down deep in their ears.
His face was intent, his eyes a-glisten,
As he raced to calm their grief and their fears.
He soothed their minds and he touched hearts and souls;
Some too young to understand tragedy,
And older hearts recognizing the holes,
So suddenly torn in their family.
And as they buried their broken treasures,
He prayed they could also bury their grief,
And find the quiet, the peace and pleasures,
Of family love and certain belief:
That their loved ones live, in a better place,
Secure and contented in God's embrace.

The guardian stood, and a silent smile,
Touched his face, so recently streaked by tears,
For those he could help, in a little while,
Would forgive and live on, though it took years.
Yet, many tiny ones would still remain,
Seeking and searching for any relief,
From the darkness and unrelenting pain,
Of innocence lost and brittle-sharp grief.
Fast as any thought, the guardian sped --
To save the living from grief for the dead.

Mick McKellar
December 2012