The bomb is primed to go off at 5.30
Though you don’t know that
As you tidy your desk
And wish your friends a great weekend.
Because you’re happy,
And you plan to have fun.
You don’t know about the bomb in the car parked
Outside Guiney’s as you walk past,
The window is full of stuff too old for you
But you look anyway because it’s Friday
And it’s pay day.
You don’t see the car parked behind you
And even if you did you wouldn’t pay it any attention
Because you don’t know about its deadly cargo
As you go about getting home.
And so you walk on with your friend
Talking about stuff young people talk about.
But then you hear a noise, a bang,
And you try to make sense of it
But of course you can’t . . .
Because it’s not a noise you’ve ever heard before.
And then behind you there is another . . .
So loud it brings its own silence.
This one will be forever etched in your consciousness.
And you turn to see a wall of fire rush towards you,
And you run because you’re young,
And you fall and pick yourself up and you run and
You look back at the horror visited on the street.
And in the aftermath no visible scars
Just the fear of walking past parked cars.
And fear is a terrible companion
But once you conquer it,
It never has power over you again.
You befriend God. He has plucked you
From danger for some unknown reason,
For some reason known only to Him.
Like you had done something to deserve His help.
And there are no answers
None that you can hear anyway.
But somewhere along the way
You know there is something you were meant to do.
Something you must leave with the world.
And one day you learn that
There are healing powers in stories,
You learn that you can heal your broken stories
And so you begin to write.
Eithne Reynolds © 2014