It’s All Perfectly Normal
While I prayed at sunrise,
God said, “Listen to the wind.”
“What will it tell me?” I asked.
“You won’t know until you listen—
until you really listen.”
So I did as I was told,
oddly enough expecting the voice of God!
Within it, instead, was a timbre
of suffering and tears.
I heard only the sound of battles,
and crying, and pain, and misery—
through countless seconds,
minutes, and hours, and centuries.
Even the slightest breeze
bore nothing but misery.
The misery of humanity.
So accustomed has it become
to being blind
that it truly does not know
how deep that blindness is.
So accustomed has it become
to terror, death, and the emptiness
of human existence,
that it believes—it believes,
it’s all perfectly normal.
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