A Life Worth Loving

An autumn day:

sky brilliant blue,  

yellow-orange-red leaves

crayon-bright among

the primary colors of my street.

I love this season;

I love my life, and that

is, indeed, the problem.

Not everyone has a life worth loving.

And sometimes, those who do,

lose it. 

What right do I have to sit

here in my sunbeamed house

and watch the light and shadows of my trees,

when half a world away,

someone else, who is not me,

watches windows drained

of color and life,

windows framed with fear   

grayed out with the absence of choice?

What God-whim chose

bombs and gunmen in Paris

and not here?

Why has it never been

my children in the line of fire?

I've sat in a theater;

I've walked down a street;

I've stopped for a drink with friends.

I survived.

Because I live where

those things never happen.

Except when they do.

At work, at countless schools,

at movie theaters.

Random bullets through windows.

Directed fire on campus.

Bombs in places unpredicted.

Unless everyone can live in that place

where these things don't happen,

unless the bombs and guns,

the insanity is stopped,

until the vengeful, bloody gods

that live in the horrific minds of men

are somehow satisfied,

or obliterated,

until respect for human life

becomes the norm for all.....

none of us can be sure of safety;

none of us can sleep in peace.