I will not be writing a gentle prayer today
The words pour forth
from the bloody ink of my pen
There is no song of comfort
adequate enough
to drown out the echoes
of dead children’s laughter
America is a stain
that cannot be scrubbed clean
There is no cure
for such blackened souls
that walk amongst us, festering like a wound, infecting us all
America, we are rotting from within
and there is no cure for our disease
America, we are wounded and wounding
Oh beautiful, for spacious skies
What love can you rain down for those of us here on the ground?
Oh Holy one whose liminality surrounds us
How can you be everywhere all at once
and nowhere when we need you the most?
No, I will not be writing a gentle prayer today
I am tired of praying to a silent God
I am tired of moving forward when all I want to do is stand in one place
and scream
I am tired of marching for change
when things only seem to getA writ of divorce. Traditionally, only a man can grant his wife a get. Liberal Jews have amended this tradition, making divorce more egalitarian. worse
Most days, I am just simply tired
We have gone on when we should have stopped and mourned
Flags should fly at half mast every day
There is no such thing as
business as usual
When we go back to “normal”
just what is it we are supposed to be getting back to?
Childhood should be a time for magic
A time for bare feet in tall grasses,
for play and discovery, for being carefree
Instead, bullets have shattered
the land of make believe
and our smallest, most precious ones
are caught in a trauma loop
managing fears they shouldn’t even
have to imagine, let alone experience
While we bear silent witness
helpless
unable to do what must be done
to save us all
