Some Days

a poem

Photo by Tasos Mansour on Unsplash

Listen to an audio recording of Some Days:

Some days,
I could run down the street
screaming at the top of my lungs:
Stop this bloody war, stop the genocide!
Stop now, you beasts, you butchers, you bastards!
Because don’t you need to yell
and howl and scream blue murder
to make people hear and feel
the pain, the suffering, the despair
of innocent children?

Other days,
I could stay in bed
with the covers over my head,
sleep, curled into a ball,
and dream not crazy dreams
where I’m running in slow motion
from demons, unable to call for help,
but sweet dreams filled with bright light.
Because don’t you need a dream
to give you a reason to wake up 
and face another day?

Some days,
I could cry a river,
burst like a dam in a flood
of hot tears and broken sobs,
weep for the dead, the dying, the doomed,
empty out like a storm cloud.
Because don’t you need once in awhile
to let go of what builds up inside
before it eats you alive?

Other days,
I could move to a small island,
hide out in a cabin in the woods
where the only sounds I hear
are birds singing in the trees,
eagles calling like wind chimes,
seals arp-arping on the rocks,
waves washing on the shore,
where at night I can stare at the stars
in awe of a greater, higher, wiser power.
Because don’t you need now and then
to get far, far away
from this crazy, noisy world?

Most days, 
I don’t scream my head off,
I don’t stay in bed,
I don’t cry my eyes out,
I don’t run away.
Because I need to make 
the most of the days, the months,
the years that remain to me
in this crazy, noisy world, 
and the best I can do
is turn my screams, my weariness, 
my tears into poems, and not forget
or overlook the good in the world.