by Kyle Lehman
One nation under God, our country stands.
The blood of a billion babies stain these hands
that push poor huddles of humanity
from golden shores where tired men breathe free
no more; for freedom rings no more but tolls
of Sodom’s scourge, and molds a dreadful dirge
that smothers any urge to liberty of souls.
Could Christmas come to us this year?
Should angels sing, would anybody hear
their song of hope and run to rouse the town
with words of peace? Could wise men of renown
find in the stars a Babe worth worshiping?
Let earth decay, from her I break away.
This stable glows, my heart contains a King.
Photo by Kenneth Godoy