The Evil That Men Do

This poem was written many years ago, after another horrific school shooting. There was so much going on at the time: genocide in Africa, the on going war in the Middle East, bullying, child abuse, missing children, abortion, poison in dog and cat food, sexual violence, police brutality and gang violence. It was all to much... and so this poem was written to try and bring me some comfort. With two shootings in the last two months, I hope it brings you some comfort as well


The Evil That Men Do by Dr. Naima Johnston Bush, Founder of the Refreshing Life with Naima


It amazes me 

That You have not deserted us by now 

Since we’ve uninvited You, 

Into this thing called life. 

As if Your blood 

Wasn’t enough to justify 

And Your word was simply powerless on the page. 

Metal scrapes air, 

Rupturing softened hearts 

Blinding minds. 

Eager, open to academic rigor. 


It is the evil that men do, 

Bound by dreams their eyes can’t see. 

Their daily fellowship with abject communication. 

Chased by ghosts, 

Who demand they call the innocent to account 

Screaming for payment 

On a debt no longer owed. 


Refusing to love a neighbor 

May lead him to the brink, a land of no return, 

Leaving broken hearts, empty arms 

Fractured and akimbo. 


And the neighbor was unknown to all, 

Who was punished by his hand. 

The neighbor did not know 

That the blood price had already been gathered 

By Your nail scarred hands. 


But the evil that men do, demands that it be, 

Poured out as an offering again and again. 

African coasts hiding homicide 

While terror rises in my own throat. 

And I understand that this is the war that truly must be fought. 


Whispers of ancient lands and genocide, 

Labors cut short by the choice called death. 

Roving marauders clashing in urban battle grounds 

Screams unacknowledged as clothing rips. 


Faces splashed on TV screens and highway signs 

Rechristen every lost child “Amber”, 

Even if it’s little Billy who is never seen again. 

Winter finding unholy comfort in the Springtime, 

And even our companions fear to feed. 


This thing, this evil that men do, 

Makes me reach for communion with You. 

Trust that You see, 

You mourn, You wait, 

Biding Your time, 

Until the promise comes to pass, 

That in the end it will be avenged 

This evil that men do.


Dr. Naima Johnston Bush (c) 2015

All Rights Reserved

7thirtysevenlogos Publishing

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