When the world is a blur
we reach out.
Grab a hand we trust
to steady ourselves.
In today’s world
the question becomes,
whose hand can we trust?
Must we ride a mad bull,
bucking twenty-four/seven
careening through disasters,
red flags hurled at us?
Deafening roars
blocking out the rational
in a cacophony of noise?
Some days I seek the easy chair,
slump contentedly, eyes closed,
listen to nothing, just breathe.
I know you are in the next room
ready to provide the steady hand.
You are the reminder,
there is good in this world.
lillian the home poet 