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.