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 solve the problem of evil, while my body emotes fear? Who will offer up a psalm and turn my mourning into hope? I can’t scrub the sadness out of my heart. So I will leave it there Indefinitely And watch it grow wit

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