A bullet for a Shepherd 😢

They say the collar shields no man—

but we believed,

believed that God would keep

his chosen ones untouched

by the smoke of guns,

the steel of hatred.

Father Bett—

your name still echoes

in the cracked walls of the parish,

your voice trapped in the pews,

where your footsteps once whispered

prayers louder than sermons.

You died in the cloth,

bleeding into holy ground.

A man of the Host—

torn by the hostilities

of men who never heard your homilies.

Did they see the cross

when they looked at you?

Did they hear your silence,

or just the stillness

they mistook for surrender?

Who kills a shepherd

as he feeds the flock?

Only wolves,

only those too lost to know

what mercy looks like

in the shape of a man.

We lit candles,

but none can burn long enough

to bring you back.

Your absence tolls

like a cracked church bell—

never whole, never right.

Rest now, Father—

in soil more sacred

for having drunk your blood.

And may your soul

haunt the hearts of the wicked,

until they learn

what it means to love.

©Bunguswa writes