“Hope is a powerful thing. But be mindful. It’s only as good as the object you place it in. Hope can bring you through the darkest night. When that hope is in an impossible dream, it will bring only despair.” – Tyler Edwards, from The Outlands
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It’s a numb feeling
Something hollow
When you know there’s no hope for the country
No chance for a better tomorrow
What will we do?
I’m not quite sure
What will happen next?
Only God knows for sure
Mass death is the name of this game
Don’t let it become normal
School shootings aren’t normal
Assault rifles in 18-year-old hands, not normal
Murdered children and politicians who don’t care
None of this is normal
Outrage is the proper emotion
Anger is to be expected
Scared parents are normal
Depression and despair, also normal
Fits of crying is perfectly normal
I want to replace every gun with a flower
I want to heal the world
Of course, it’s not possible
But what if?
Every time someone is shot
I’ll plant a rose garden
Or maybe some daffodils
Every time a gun is bought
I’ll teach a child their ABC’s
Or buy them twenty books
How to fight off despair?
The walls closed in, chaos, claustrophobia
Mean eyes everywhere I look
There must be some melted hearts out there
Amid the hatred and relentless despair
Hate in hearts can be broken with love
Like nestling into a sweetheart’s arms
Under cool moonlit nights
Away from infinite news cycles and images
Of society tearing, tearing apart
But how to fight off despair?
“Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change.” – Mary Shelley, from Frankenstein
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Rage gun fury
Blood on my face, blood on my hands
Blood everywhere
Bloody Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday
Blood every day of the week
Dip your phone in blood before you check the news feed
I woke up in my bloody bed, washed my bloody head
Blood at the grocery store, at the schools
God is crying blood
I screamed; blood spewed from my mouth
Stars and stripes soaked with blood
Blood on the streets, up to my ankles, like Morrison said
Blood drives for the loss of blood
Bleeding out in the 3rd grade
Blood from the suicides
Blood from moms who cried
Blood from those who died
A wave and tide of blood
Drowning in blood
Mix it with the mud
Wash everything in blood
Soak the soil, the bloody roots
The tree of blood, tree of dead wisdom
Tree of hanged men, tree of dead kin
Take my blood, it’s yours to keep
They like it this way, so let’s serve it up
The exploded heads and chests
The body parts in the classroom
The bloody assault rifles
The bloody protests
The blood we give
Born in the blood, death in blood
Take my blood, it’s all yours
Author’s Note: RIP America (again).
(Photo by Max Muselmann on Unsplash)
Ice-fire glow in Techno-City, left behind to die on the streets. Freeze out, no one cares about me in the gutter looking up at the brutal night sky. A price on my head for that grave mistake I made. The man with the laser eyes broke both my legs, kicked me into the street. Cold, misty rain falling, nothing to eat.
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The path leads to nowhere
No place special, anyway
Just an aimless soul-walk
In the misty morning gray
Crunch of leaves below
Birdsong fills my ears
At one with my spirit
For now, without a care
(Photo by Tyler Lastovich on Unsplash)
Check out my science fiction novella, Mother Portia, on Amazon Kindle
“If you can’t figure out your purpose, figure out your passion. For your passion will lead you right into your purpose.” – Bishop T.D. Jakes
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