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I ran across this poem today. It moved me so deeply, hitting at an issue I have been wrestling with — often with poor results! — for months. I think some of you might feel the same, so I thought I would share it.
For Those Who Stand Against Tyrants
There are still your stories, still stars in the pine trees.
There are still children making their way back from school,
trying not to step on cracks in the sidewalks, believing it matters.
There are still mothers kneeling in the ruins, promising
the gunshots aren't coming.
There are still fathers alone in the night, the wounds in them like mule-deer in the orchards, trying not to clack their antlers.
There is still the heart, the moon.
Come, loves, let's stand here after madness.
The world is not over, only broken.
There are old books, there are horses in the lemon trees.
There are children, still, waiting in the classrooms, looking up
with tired eyes full of wonder.
Look at them. There is work we have to do.
— Joseph Fasano |