Some days this world makes you want to keep on running
and never stop till you get somewhere better.
The same words endlessly repeated on the nightly news:
Are these the themes of our stories?
It seems so.
Our narratives have become senseless,
and we write them in blood.
Some days the voices of deranged, broken people
are the only ones we can hear
because they’re screaming the loudest and longest
and they punctuate their tirades with explosions.
Must we always harmonize with their cacophony?
God, I’m sick of this song.
Change the station.
Change it all.
When I think of peace
the word feels so hollow
Where is the peace that was promised?
“My peace I give to you.”
Is it simply inner peace?
I’m sorry, but
a lot of good that does
when the world is on fire.
But then I’m reminded to “look for the helpers,”
to dream of a world where there are
“no more hurting people.”
And despite our own wickedness, that world is coming.
It is a seed planted deep, already growing,
soon to break out of the soil.
And no matter how hard we wish
how loudly we weep
how bitter we become
how vengeful we act
how strongly we pray
we cannot make a plant grow before its time.
We can only wait.
And I know it’s worth waiting for,
but some days I swear
this world makes me want to run.