I would write a poem from the depths of my heart
If my heart had any depth.
I would tell the story of overwhelming difficulties
If my life knew hard times.
I would illustrate the drama of unending sorrow
If my soul truly ached.
But my pain is temporal
And so is my joy.
A sheltered life isn't glib
But it knows not the language of hurt and euphoria.
I can only stare wide-eyed at threats of suicide
At the TV screens broadcasting genocide
At cancer patients and parents turned mourners
Their pain feels real but still so far away.
How will I face it when it finally comes?
"What if this storm ends? and I don't see you as you are now ever again . . ."