Ecclesiastes

Every piece of news is bad;

I cringe before I turn the page

To ward against the dark and sad,

And bank the omnipresent rage.

I try to turn my face away,

Read from the corner of my eye;

I fear the horrors of the day.

It is a struggle not to cry.

Every email feels a threat

I hate to turn my laptop on

For dread of being overset

Because my confidence is gone

That told me once the world won't burn.

But now it will. It is our turn.