Will there come a time,
I’ve often wondered at night,
When those who live in darkness,
Blind,
Will be awakened by a light.
What light? You ask,
Not one of year’s past
Clinging to nostalgia, inertia, in revery
For what never was,
But perhaps one day can be.
Not the dark light of enemy,
Motivated by hating thee—
Hating the rich,
Or the poor,
Hating the news,
Or the Jews,
Or the old man knocking on the door.
That old man said to me:
“Never trust one who is led by hate,
They will only destroy,
What others try to create.”
“Can a new world be built?”
“By those who wish tear down every pillar, every wall?”
“Who cares,” came a voice.
“I care only about the fall.”
“Burn it down!”
“These structures of inequity!”
“Drain the swamp!”
“You can trust me.”
This is not the light I seek.
Vengeful,
Nostalgic,
Frightened,
Weak.
But we’re just human after all,
And storytelling is our trade.
Heros and villains,
Are how movements are made.
You’ll find a god and a devil,
On every page of history,
We care as much for freeing the innocent,
As punishing the guilty.
Will we ever find a new path?
A new way forward without wrath?
A road to a future less bleak?
One where love propels the words our leaders speak?
This is the light I seek.
Gray Winsler 