Babel

pondering the depths
of the human spirit  
 
how much can it bear to hold?  
beautiful stillness of a childs gaze  
rapture of head tilted to sun  
the warm embrace of little arms  
wrapped around necks  
so innocent, so trusting  
torn away by bullets  
 
beauty and chaos  
hand in hand  
 
she stretches weary arms  
searching for answers in light  
and dark  
where there are things seen  
that should never be seen  
 
anguish of parents  
who have had their children  
taken from them  
in the heat of someone else's  
mindlessness, madness  
where nothing changes  
for better  
 
friends standing, kneeling, hiding  
behind barricades never meant  
for war zones  
innocent blood spilled  
 
a teacher wheel chair bound  
telling her students  
"if there is a gunman  
do whatever it takes  
to save yourselves,  
do Not worry for me.  
I will protect you as much  
as I am able."  
Her students reply,  
"We have already decided  
we will carry you."  
 
This is America  
not some third world country  
where we feel we have made claim  
to fix or save or abolish  
one thing or another  
while taking lives ourselves  
 
I suppose in many ways  
we should not be surprised  
that this has become an inside job  
on our own soil  
the land of babel  
is here  
 
we speak the same language  
we are not listening, hearing  
eachother  
people hide in their bubbles  
offering no compassion  
no remorse, only  
"thoughts and prayers"  
 
greed has reared it's ugly head  
what is truly important  
has been reduced to  
what can I get for it ...  
what will fill my pockets  
 
heart and soul have been removed from the equation  
 
 
 
 
the only question  
remains is  
how hard are we willing to fall ?  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
-there are days where she feels crushed by the weight of it, of what is happening everywhere .. why does it seem to not matter to so many?  
last week, three beautiful souls took their own lives  
they could no longer take, feel the pain and burden of losing those they held so dear  
to feel powerless, guilty at surviving, PTSD, shame, anguish, anger at nothing being done ...  
 
-i am a puddle-  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
~The Tower of Babel, oil painting by Pieter Bruegel the Elder, 1563; in the Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna~