Keening

My family comes from yours Those who hear the cry of the lamb Sigh, devoured Feel the echo in a bat's purvey and Hunt with silent precision A minuscule portion of peace remains A tree Flaming with defeat Has hit the ground No ones around but by its falling grace Only 6000 miles away I felt the timber, I cried it's plea Our family is always listening I felt the timber, I cried it's plea I remain Our family is always listening There is no more lamb yet the herd echos How, when the bat has no search The hunt is gathered and rationed, but what peace remains? Grieve with precision Not in silence For my family is dying and yours is too For my family is dying and yours is too In falling grace, flaming and singed Before we heal 'Devour the deaf with vengeance'