A Time to Mourn

There is “a season,” the poet writes, “a time to every purpose”: “A time to weep,” and “a time to laugh;” “a time to mourn, and a time to dance.”

T

his moment is a time to mourn.

    I mourn our Motherland. I mourn for a mother (one of America’s First Ladies) and her young son. I mourn a period in time that is wasted on surround-sound vulgarity, a relentlessness in theater of distraction and depravity. 

        I mourn my country overrun by philistines and mercenaries; my country reduced so low that no nation of moral, rational, sensible human beings dares to trust or, in any way, take seriously American leaders, partners and public figures—and thus any policies or promises emanating from the United States of America. 

                I mourn our brokenness.

                No matter what team you are on, what tribal banner you are sporting—a collective end is certain. 

                Any nation or individual or tribe that is weighted down in self-righteousness (or depravity or both of these maladies), rushing pell-mell off a mountain cliff, is bent on the inevitable unhappy ending: annihilation.

Copyright © Carolyn LaDelle Bennett

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