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

*pic credits*