The smoke
A poem
By Aaron L Miller
9.11.2020
The smoke is stuck over us, thick, rigid, will not move.
The fires are all around us
Choking off the wind
It’s hard to breathe now.
Now we know how George Floyd felt.
We’re stuck too
In a world we created
In a world we knew would come
In a world too full of disaster
In a world where all we can do is escape to fantasy
To music
To art
To sport
To games
Where do we go from here?
How do we write our future?
Or has our pen run out of ink?
I’m trying to finish my work
But it’s hard to breathe these days
Hard not to worry about my kids
Hard not to worry about my parents
Hard not to worry about family and friends
The meditation helps
But only goes so far
There’s only so much breath one can force himself to breathe
There are no easy answers
Not this year
Not this time
The lies are facts
The news is fake
The sky is orange
Everywhere I look someone is blaming someone else
Every one I talk to has their own perspective
And it’s often more or less about them
( I know the same can easily be said of me )
But where are the incentives for acting in the common good?
For choosing to help another?
For fighting now for the children of the future ?
Where can I put all this anger, this frustration, this sadness, this grief?
