Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Boston is but one of many

A little girl, 8 years old
“ Grandpa, why are there bad people in the world ? “
There is no why, only hope
and prayer

The blank of intolerance,
That smearing blur of hate,
blinding anger
Are all these melded into one big ball of confusion
Until your cause can only be justified through tears and blood ?

Does peace and quiet heighten the thunders in your head ?
Can your voice only be heard through explosions and broken lives ?
Does this calamity of senseless loss
Shed more sense in the roar of your mindless lashings ?
and does it heal your wound to cut another ?

Is your walk less lonely
When a crowd falls with you ?
Does it give you sight to blind another ?
That ticking bomb in your hand, does it match the race of your discontent ?
Does it make you feel powerful to hold
powerless lives at your temporary mercy ?
Can you exchange your pain
for the bleeding heart of a parent’s loss ?

Question after question after question
Hurt upon hurt
Contagious confusion
But only one thing rings clear
The answers are not in clenched fists
and bitter vengeance
because retribution does not decode the answer

A little girl, 8 years old
Broken dreams and shattered breaths
a future prematurely robbed and erased

There is no why, only hope
and prayer