© 2018 by Medicinal Poetry

 

~ why

 

 

The sting of hot tears

pierces the jadedness

shielding my eyes

from the intricacies

of all these tragedies

as feeling 

finally bubbles over the edge 

of my heavy cup.

Too many people have died this year.

No explanation can encompass this wrongness.

There are no words for the depths of this despair.

But we will see millions on our screens:

to proliferate opinions,

manufacture complacency, 

ensure continuing consumption,

and rage against whilst perpetuating the machine.

 

I am weary of reasons.

Mind has ruled long enough.

Anything is justifiable,

twistable, edible,

ostensibly inevitable

when given the proper spin.

“No more ‘why’.”

calls this aching heart,

finally breathed into enough

for shock and disbelief

of humanity’s capacity for inhumanity

to melt into sadness.

Perhaps instead we grieve.

Grieve everything:

the lives of the victims, 

the lost genius of the perpetrators

twisted by the insanity

of the ones who pay for guns

to wreak the havoc on the world

they will not look at in themselves;

grieve the viscous dystopia we find ourselves in

powered by the fear that hides 

under every act of hatred.

 

And when enough tears have fallen, 

like lava rising from the unrestable depths

to slowly and steadily transmute everything in its wake,

the heat of feeling beyond reasoning 

will burn through our comfortable numbness.

Maybe we can start 

to put our words

and our money 

and our actions

where our hearts live.

And “why” will become the rallying cry 

of hands planting seeds

of love made visible through lives indivisible,

and the memory that tears can also be of joy.

 

{Listen to this poem here}

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