127 Broken

feel like history is a loop of terror, back again, to kill again. I hear the feet marching on the pavement, saluting the leader, continuing down the path toward genocide, war, death. Throwing the peaceful into unmarked van. Killing the unarmed, shot in the back eight times. Lies. Power. Corruption.

I feel like I could die of a broken heart.

I feel like the challenges are stacked so high, that when one is healed, there is just another… and another… and another.  No relief.  Forever.

I feel like I live in a world where there are so many lies and deceptions, that finding clarity and answers and Truth is an impossibility.  It’s a world where children are taken from their parents, or dropped out in the ocean, because of their nationality. A world where wealth of the few, the capitalistic dream, rules so supreme that health and nutrition and housing of the many can be more than a struggle.  Illness. Starvation.  Homelessness.  Knocking on the door of the many, or already down the hallway of the shattered home.

I feel like communication never happens.  Not between the couples, not between the young ones, not between the best friends and neighbors.  It is all a facade.  People pretend.  They do not comprehend.  Throwing love into a bottomless pond.

I feel like religion is a farce.  Love your neighbor.  Emulate your teacher, your guru.  Then the leader falls to humanity, worse than the rest, lower, more repulsive treatment of those who need compassion most, rotating, needing.  My eyes open to the people who claim their glory being those furthest from it.

I feel like history is a loop of terror, back again, to kill again.  I hear the feet marching on the pavement, saluting the leader, continuing down the path toward genocide, war, death. Throwing the peaceful into unmarked van.  Killing the unarmed, shot in the back eight times.  Lies. Power. Corruption.

The sun is shining, but it is dark outside.  A hopeless world.  Tears.  Tears for the wounds, the healing.  Another… and another… and another.

Author: Michele Plumb Stowell

Michele Stowell was a teacher, a hand holder, and encouraging voice. Born an early Gen Xer, she has lived in Western Washington for the duration. Her children, two spectacular genetic daughters and an uncountable number of marvelous scout and school sons and daughters, shine as her biggest impact and her greatest blessing. Just before her 54th birthday, Michele was diagnosed with stage four cancer. Her writing and art work are expressions of the drama and the joy of living earth bound. On October 24, 2021, Michele was released from her physical body, transported to continue her work on other realms.

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