Some Day

Some days I feel that my words are lazy,
flopping around, undefined and hazy
unstructured, uncouth, unrefined, and bland,
trying to paint Picasso’s with a bucket of sand

Some days I know my words are inspired,
burst from my brain, complex and fired
Unforgiving, untold, unimagined and grand
flowing with power that will ring through the land

Other days are harder to put wit to word,
often I'll delve into the strange and absurd
There I’ll find madness as though I were drunk
(I promise I’m not, this is all sober thunk)

Some days the words flow like summer's breeze,
plucking ripe apples from tops of the trees
into my lap they all fall with grace
akin to my rhythm where words fall in place

I’ve heard of days when no words come at all
but I haven’t seen one as I can recall
I trust that whatever may spout when I type
will at least be something, if nothing worth hype

But I long for days when I can rock lives
when few simple words can stop bullets and knives
If the sword could fall to the simple pen
could a powerful phrase bring peace again?

What would they be? The words that silence a gun,
Is there such a thing in any tongue?
I hope there is, and I hope they're found

Before the whole worlds is a hole in the ground

It's really hard to not be affected by all that goes on. Dealing with it appropriately is hard. I have enormous sympathy for those involved, but my opinion is of no consequence because I am so far away and so ignorant of all that they face. I am grateful for my peacetime and my freedom to be a silently confused and internally saddened observer. If I appear blasé it's because I don't know what to say.