There’s a collective storm brewing
the likes of which we’ve never seen.
Words that whispered through our minds
are on news feeds for all the world to hear.
The cacophony cuts like a knife,
interrupting peaceful dreams
and guiltless sleep,
driving us from sylvan glens
to roam among the brambles,
life’s blood dripping scarlet
upon the thirsty ground.
Hope is all we have left,
a refuge, burning bright,
the eternal flame of a single candle
chasing away shadows
in the eye of the storm.