We bring tears to the table

We bring tears to the table,

when the air becomes fire with hate

There are good men, good men who died in the view of it.

We bring tears to the table,

when colors lay dying on sidewalks of indifference

when uniforms of service are torn and blood-red

hands carry death like a plate of evil served on a platter of weary cries

We as mankind circle, what to do? We wring our hands, we fall on bended knee, we cry out “where are you please?”  We carry on, go shop and pet puppies and hike trails and breathe fresh air because we don’t know what else to do. Our edges get sharper, we trust less. It’s a heart mess, when bodies lay dying because of hate.

I wandered into this pain full on and broken, I once patched this pain while dressed in a white coat and stethoscope. I saw families crumble in waiting rooms. I saw hate tear body and soul to pieces as we sat together in dazed bewilderment, their blood kin stained my coat…. they turned to me in disbelief. There are good men, good men who died in light of day.

Nothing else to say

We bring tears to the table.

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