"Up Heaven's Slope: Dedicated to Our Kedoshim”


Why wrenched from hearth and home,

o'er hills and fields whence they came?...

Dreaming dreams didst thou freely roam,

awaken to morning cold and lame.


Wearily trod up heaven's slope

gray figures stooped, transparently thin,

recalling life from days before

while awaiting storms of Heavenly din.


Unlike Goliath in battle fell,

a travail, cold and dark, did numb

that David who had fought so well

would soon that night succumb.


Prayerful hopes shoes be found

for souls bereft and torn,

a moment to rest, a breath to breathe

for spirits dulled and worn.


Should not there have been one

for whom faith steadfast but rare,

that his would be ennobled by Thee

to seek his just and fair?


Who glimpsed the light but touched him not

whose spark had begun to wane

next day ere long gathered clouds again

for fewer who remain.


Bowed under lash by day,

by night a storm did rage.

Why had He not shown His way

a war He could have waged?


Aside bodies on planks they lie

precious heat what little remain.

Dreaded welcome soon might bring

next to whom they had just lain.


Still in death's kingdom shone

a light, a way, the day

when dawn’s rising would fewer eyes see

whose faith did them sustain.


The world we choose points us down

paths long sought by peace,

in the gardens of which we plant the seeds

lest memories tragically cease.


Alan D. Busch
Revised January 2008