Submerged In Sorrow

The unspeakable tragedies of flooding in Texas and New Mexico weigh heavy upon our hearts. We join our prayers with the grieving who wait anxiously for information, and we hold close to our hearts those lost in the raging waters, especially the children. In times of joy and laughter, imagination can be a wonderful friend, but in moments like these, imagination conjures up more than our minds and hearts can hold.

Submerged In Sorrow
Sometimes imagination is a horrible companion.
I lock the door, draw the curtains
around my inherent curiosity,
refuse to acknowledge the insistent knocking.
But it will not go away; it feeds on
the bizarre, relishes the possibilities from
the pain and suffering of others.
Imagination, freed from the guidelines
of common courtesy, splashes the canvas
with crimson paint and calls it art.

The faces of parents shielding their children
in the rubble of a Ukranian building.
Sudden flashes of light in the night sky
as the car rumbles over a scarred roadway
in a Gaza village. The feeling of her
heart being ripped out of her body as
her child is yanked from her arms
by the flooding river filled with
debris and death.

For so long I thought imagination always
led to cuddly puppy dogs or riding the
stars through a benevolent universe
or chocolate ice cream on a Sunday afternoon.
But I was wrong.

I hate imagination’s insistence that
overpowers compassion’s limits.
My soul is submerged in sorrow.
The raging rivers of imagination
have swept away the pieces of
my shattered heart.