Here I stand waiting, listening to the hissing
Code like chirping of teapot slowly heating.
And while I’m waiting, cogitating
Upon the way that hate is simmering
All across the globe.
I see it in the labored breathing
Of the news men’s rage filled seething
And their incoherent screaming
While I stand there in my grieving
With fading hope for a peaceful world.
Why don’t I feel the common loathing
For that other cultures clothing?
Why am I not out there berating
Them about their way of praying
To their God, so like my own?
I must assist, while my son is growing,
In some way, to leave him knowing
That beneath this endless killing
There remains, ready and willing,
People capable of love.