We, all of us, crumble at times.
We collapse, and let all the bits and pieces of rubble roll out
They stop soon, and we pick them up, put ourselves back together and swear,
this time it’s different, that
we have grown.
Whether or not we have is beyond our judgment, indistinguishable in a murky puddle.
Our emotions and our thoughts, perceptions and ponderings, summate our weakness.
They seep through the carapaces and disperse the comfort that we all seek within.
Then comes the world,
and we walk a tightrope over wobbling legs, burdened
by hatred and pain and failure and we brandish the weapons within,
for first they came for us, it suddenly seems.

It’s every starving child and every Hiroshima,
and a man parting desperate lips for milk from a the breast of a women he has just met
in this flooded barnyard.
It’s the judgment of our wallets over our character at hospital doors and across the world,
And every moment where there just ain’t no reason.

And yet,
We believe

That love or God, or our own perseverance will set us free.
That we can build and rebuild and make our weakness into strength
and find the answers, the comfort
to shed the carapace and strut across the tightrope on a razors edge, unwavering,
knowing that we have defeated the weakness of mankind

To capture the warm wind of summer days.