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 with sorrow and compassion.