It Is Overwhelming
It is overwhelming —
The weight of the world upon the heart,
Children bruised by the hands that made them,
Mothers and fathers tearing love apart.
Every street holds a whispered crime,
Every hour another name is gone,
And innocence is sold like silver dust
Before the light of morning dawns.
The air is thick with shouting hate,
With cruel words flung like broken glass,
And even women, once gentle of voice,
Now sharpen their tongues to make wounds last.
Power walks like a careless king,
Choosing who shall rise or fall,
Writing law with a trembling hand
That never learned mercy at all.
Surely they know that judgment waits
Beyond the door they bar so tight,
That no throne built on broken souls
Can stand before the coming light.
I am weary of watching the world bleed,
Weary of prayers that fall unheard—
Yet still I hold this trembling hope
Like a small and stubborn bird.
For love has not forsaken us,
Though it walks with a wounded face,
And somewhere still a child is born
Who will teach the world again its grace.
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