Whispered Wanderings

The world in frightened tension lay
while here and there some kneel and pray;
few words may come that they can say.

We’ve reached a point only hope remains
so many unsure if it even pertains:
so trapped we are in our self-made chains.

I stand outside and look to the sky
my only question a cosmic why.
(Don’t really want an answer, for fear it’s a lie.)

Does anyone know the truth anymore?
Was it always like this, in times before?
Or am I a victim of whitewashed lore?

Still, hope is where I must lay my head,
to prevent myself from drowning in dread;
to ensure creativity doesn’t go unfed.

I believe in hope, I believe in love.
I believe in a well-meaning God above.
So I’ll wait, and watch, for a symbolic dove.

klm
7/21/24