What More Can We Do

Haunted by the death of dreams and slaughtering of innocence but too afraid to dig up the bones and examine our own mistakes, we bury our heads instead, blindly following greedy leaders who give nothing but hollow words and meaningless moments of silence. I know I’m not the only one asking - what more can we do? As summer nears, sunlight stirs in streams, surprising delicate gardens with dreams of daffodils. Their bright eyes, wide with secrets, suddenly close, and their dainty petals wither until they are no more. Knowing these last days of spring rain will remain, summer retreats. Soon, their daffodil dreams will be just a memory. After darkness falls, all is numb. New roots breeding evergreen suddenly turn dry and dull. Promises forgotten, potential lost to pain - tomorrow’s tree weakening. The shimmering green of innocence is gone, but fiery guns are drawn. How can we forget while whipping winds constantly howl? How can we only cry as hatred’s bullets continue to fly? Smoky skies once boisterous and blue now choke our most cherished blooms. The silence of complacency is evil’s sickening laughter, Do you hear its rifle reloading faster? My blue tears turn blood red, anger gushes, flooding me from sea to dimming sea in this vast land of violence versus vulnerability. We are no longer free to dream, no longer free to tend to our gardens, to breathe in and measure each miraculous moment, to watch our fragile flowers strengthen and grow to beautiful heights. With head bowed, I listen to the silence of my tears falling where the flowers once grew. I can no longer hear the cries of the fallen with petals blowing. I only hear the howling winds of this never-ending nightmare, and again I ask, what more can we do? 5/25/22