Stories

It’s raining.
In our despair,
In our fear of death,
Each of us, all of us,
Individual black holes,
We create stories,
As countless as the stars,
Stories not for entertainment,
Stories to survive,
To march forward to the end.
We craft stories of hope, triumph, of
Good conquering evil,
A beautiful romance,
An inspiring dream.
But today, our stories are failing us.
We have nothing.
And we watch as evil
Devours the most innocent,
As the blood of children
Snake down streets,
Rivers and rivers,
Emptying into ourselves.
We turn to our stories for help,
For a reason, for a purpose,
But we mostly use them
To comfort only ourselves
Amid overwhelming darkness,
Forgetting we are the creators.
We could end all the pain
If only we weren’t so lost
In our stories.

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