For Boston

pray boston

For Boston

by Patrick Reed

Boston weeps tonight

Where distance-prophets stride in elegant steps down the asphalt river

with yellow lines uniting all from Hopkington to Boylston’s epic finish

And yellow balloons soar skyward into bluest skies like the runners’ racing;

Where aged sages and youthful innocents stride towards the finish

Where one hundred and sixteen times before the harriers worked to cross to glory;

Whilst merry Bostonians yearly give their Monday best

When brilliant and clear the finishers close quickly,

And rampant patriotic banners sweep the free-est skies in streaks of red and blue and pure white

And police and racing officials blink away the joyous tears of the ever-innocent laurel crown;

Whilst children hug to father’s necks and mothers dote on daughter’s sun-beamed locks

Where men have always already pushed their injured children through the Commonwealth for glory

Where Heartbreak is analogous to knowing discipline’s victory

Where rocking music rumbles cheering beats and runners pace to its near victory-song:

There, there has been a great cacophony – –

There! There! arose two terrible clouds of sorrow

There, there the son has fallen beside his loved ones

And lost and lost and lost that race he watched.

And there have died two daughters who longed to cheer on unknown passersby.

But who has lost? What has been taken?

Can freedom’s life be purchased from the God-blessed child?

Or torn from Liberty’s arms though her elegant arms are taken?

Can liberty be purged by war and violent bombings?

Would Liberty give her best for weakness hurled

In empty, anonymous and resentful concussions?

The weak foe has weakened more his piteous flaws

Which try to reason that a cure for envy

Is his hideous faceless evil throw.

The glorious silence of the distance runners’ joyous strides

Has been confused and shocked and maimed by that second untrained challenger’s hate.

But all at once Love once again has slain

That awful brokenness called hate.

On Boylston ever the sturdiest cries will ever echo not the shattering glass and metal and concrete

Which tried again in vain to crack th’American Dream;

Instead on history’s pages Bolyston’s greatest finish-line will ever mark the crossing point to that which

selfish envy never will and never can enjoy

Boston’s Marathon finish line will only ever resound with the glories of the heavenly hosts’ hymns brought

forth by 26.2 miles of American greatness.

May God bless Boston tonight and every night.

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Here’s more information about those 3 beautiful people who died in the Boston Marathon terrorist bombings.