Post Paris Massacre
I can’t scrub the sadness out of my heart. No matter where I turn, there is talk of violence and hate.
Where can I place my pain, so that it is healed by a tender touch?
Who will listen to the disquiet within me and reassure me with love?.
Who will take my tears and turn them into a potent prayer? I can’t scrub the sadness out of my heart.
No matter what I do, the melancholy attaches to my muscles.
Where can I place my beliefs, so that it draws me to action?
Who will
