The Veil over Vukovar

Vukovar is quiet today
And yet
whistling through the pock-marked buildings
murmuring in the piles of rubble
are the faint and distant echoes of
violence
hatred
destruction
agony
tears

A city's survival of a three month siege
untold murders
rapes
torture
bloodshed
is no small miracle.

The victors thought
the last few remaining
carted away half-dead,
minds wailing the dirge-like notes
of memories to heavy to bear,
would signal an ethnic triumph

And yet admist this grisly death
The city lives,
but not easily.
It is like a sleeping beast
and its food is destruction
were it to be awoken hungry once more.

Life and death
stand side by side
against the grey sky
one proud in its post-war beauty
the other huddled ashamed
against his brother's wall,
its decaying sides
mocking the fresh paint next door.

Does Jesus sit over every ravaged city
weeping over humanity's lust for power?
Does He walk the streets
sit among the rubble
waiting for someone to notice Him?