I am powerless against the darkness.
I wake up in the morning sore and blurry, fumbling across Twitter while waiting for the black coffee. I see images of the darkness in the palm of my hand.
And we are powerless to stop it.
The coffee’s done now; I pour it down my throat and move on with my day, while fresh blood pools on street corners around the world.
“Why aren’t we talking about this more?” they ask, chiding us for being too absorbed in silly scandals and mindless entertainment, for failing to speak up.
But what is there to say?
And what can words do against bullets and bombs, against ignorance and hate, against power clothed in robes of darkness?
All we have is words, and images.
So I whisper a prayer, like a candle against the darkness. But the candle is small, and the darkness still hangs heavy.
Against images of darkness, sometimes hope feels like blasphemy.
I don’t know what to do. Do you?
[ image: imgur ]
published February 20, 2014
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