right here/right now

I will find a way into this troubled truth that makes my most sensitive child shed hot tears because "this is how they treat us." I will find answers stronger than hugs. I will find words and do what writers do with them. And I will wonder if those words could ever be enough. Probably not. That's why the poets and singers, the music-makers and dramatists, the painters and provocative visionaries will not stop. Because it's never enough. And I will seek action, and after that, I will wonder the same things about ceilings, iron bars, escape routes, and this strange weather, this seeming drought in some of our souls. It don't stop. Neither will we.