By Sean Dempsey, 03/31/25
The sun sank low on Lilac Lane;
The stars began to peep.
And laughter rang from mouths of men
Who’d never yet known grief.
With meat and wine their hearts were glad—
Their tables richly spread.
Till sudden came the radio’s cry:
“A bomb shall strike,” it said!
Then silence fell like Yahweh’s tomb,
And eyes grew sharp with dread—
For each man turned unto his kin,
And dreamed of days ahead.
One man there was, a prudent soul,
Who’d built himself a keep—
A shelter wrought of stone and steel,
Where he and his could sleep.
But when his neighbors heard the news,
Their mirth turned into need—
And knocking came upon his door,
With panic, fear, and greed.
“O let us in!” they wailed and screamed,
“Thou selfish, heartless knave!
Shall we and all our children die,
While thee thy life would save?”
He spake: “There’s room for mine and mine,
No space for one soul more!
Go seek thy God, or build a keep,
For I shall lock this door.”
Then fury lit their mortal frames,
As torches lit the night—
The kindly guests of hours ago
Now lusted for a fight.
With crowbars, bricks, and broken oaths,
They struck his shelter fast.
Their hands were red, their minds unmade,
All bonds of civility passed.
They tore and screamed, as beasts in heat,
Each soul to save his own.
No thought for love, nor law, nor grace;
Their hearts had turned to stone.
Then neighbor turned on neighbor swift,
And tempers flared like flame—
“The doctor lies, he knew of this;
He’s always played the game!”
“The lawyer’s tongue is slick with guile!”
Another woman cried,
“He’d steal the breath from babes asleep
To save his bloated hide!”
“Thou drunkard! Thief! Thy children too
Are vipers just like thee!
I saw thy son with matches lit—
He meant to burn the tree!”
“The grocer weighs his scales with sand!”
“A whore, thy wife, in silk she stands!”
“The preacher takes his tithe in flesh!”
“Your daughter kissed a married man!”
Old masks were torn and sins recalled,
Each wound laid bare anew.
The past was dragged through mud and bile,
And every lie made true.
They fought like dogs on bloodied ground,
With eyes both mad and wet—
For when the soul is ruled by fear,
It drinks and can’t forget.
The children cried, the mothers screamed,
The fathers roared with hate—
As if the Devil rang the bell
And opened wide Hell’s gate.
They raged until their hands were raw,
Their voices cracked and dry.
And still no bombs fell from the sky,
No death came from on high…
But lo! No blast did rend the world,
No ash consumed the day—
The sirens ceased, the sky was calm,
The threat had passed away.
The warning proved a ghostly lie,
The missiles’ day was staved—
A faulted voice, a false alarm…
Their beastly lives were saved!
They stood among the splintered boards,
Ashamed of what they’d done;
Their hands still shook, their breath still wild,
Their war had just begun.
For though no bomb did strike the land,
Nor foreign foe invade,
The truth of Man was laid in dust,
And all their souls betrayed.
The shelter-door was strong and thick,
But not so strong as fear.
And fear, once loosed upon the world,
Shall rot it year by year.
Far better had the heavens burned,
And fire consumed them all,
Than live to see the truth revealed—
Man’s rise is but his fall.
For bodies heal and homes rebuild,
But what of soul and name?
They died not in the shelter’s dark:
But when they played man’s game.
