40

“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”


What do we grasp

When we run out of words.

How do we love,

when hate lines the streets.

Signs and slogans,

T-shirts and flags,

fists raised in the air.

Leaders talk big,

they’ve got the answers.

They’ve got the money, the degrees, the experience, the passion, the whatever.

I look at you and see your humanity,

but when you speak, I taste poison.

A visceral reaction, I want to turn away–

Condemn and forget you, it’d be a lot easier that way.

Disillusioned and caught are we,

in this tempest of reality.

Temporal world,

I see your cracks.

People dying from the cold,

People starving in the drought.

Guns and bombs.

Parasites and pandemics.

Liars and thieves.

Rapists and killers.

The poor stay poor,

the forgotten become myth,

tress and mountains are plowed,

creatures and wilderness slip away.

Children are crying–

but no one is there to hear.

What do we grasp?

When we run out words.

When we run out of tears.

When we run out of laughs.

When we run out light, and warmth, and goodness, and what is right.

I stare into your humanity,

because you’re made from dust, just like me.

And I ask,

What do you grasp?

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