Futility

I could write all day about this horrible world

in which we live

and how the only constant is futility. 

Who could argue?

Who has not heard EVERY day

of the endless suffering 

all over the world,

but also in our country,

in our counties,

in our towns,

on our streets,

or have had such suffering visit us directly

– personally –

maybe even in our own homes?

Who does not know

of the suffering of the child victims – 

of hunger,

of poverty,

of abuse, 

of rape,

who grow up to be

– if they live long enough, 

hungry adults,

homeless adults,

traumatized adults?

And we know with that there are those,

even most,

who go on to try to love someone, 

who try to live with someone,

who try to raise a child to have a better life,

full of hopes and dreams,

because really such dreams don’t die on their own.

These dreams would survive and perhaps thrive

if this was shared vision of those who struggle to keep the dream alive

joined by those who have the means to make it happen.

But now my only reprieve from my own constant agony

would seem to be to stop writing about this futility.

After all, it is in itself a futile exercise.

But I won’t.