I cried again last night.
Not the same sweet tears I shed only one entrenching week ago.
Not the tears of hope and promise.
Not the tears of possibility.
Of love and compassion.

I cried the desperate tears of traumatic pain and rejected disbelief.
Tears of frustration and incredulity.
Emoting out loud my fears as I witnessed, once again, our collective failure to behave in a manner of grace.
In a manner of love.

I cried out as I watched those employed to protect us ****** yet another one of us.
Us.
Yes.
He was us.
All of us.
With the skin torn from our bodies.
With bullets forever assassinating our spirit of unity.
We are the same.
I cry as I say their names.
I cried at the endless list of names.
I cry because civil rights are an illusion.
A distant and deadly idea.

I watched as beleaguered millionaires left their respective fields of play in acts of solidarity during a season already plagued with the short, harsh spotlight of what is truly important.
I cried at the quick realization these athletes were becoming true leaders, heroic leaders, by illuminating the crimes for those too blind to see.

I cry as I watch and listen to an unpatriotic and hypocritical minority attempt to justify a monster.
Such reckless noise has become actions of atrocity and killers are being enabled by the cacophony of a cult.
I cried as I heard the rants of lunatics with microphones.

I cried as a brainwashed boy was indoctrinated into a malevolent belief system so deeply to travel to another town with an automatic weapon to hunt and successfully ****** peaceful protesters.
I cried as I listened to the voices praising him.

I cried because the darkest nature of mankind is now fostered.
Nurtured and coddled.
Our sins are amassed in front of truth and righteousness.
Every day.
And I cried for the people who know right from wrong.
I cried for both those who observe this simple belief and those who don't.
But mostly I cried for those who cannot cry ever again.

August 27, 2020
The Year of Our Pandemics