When do dads get to stop being mad

Pounding the pavement in angry protest

Searching for answers that rarely come

Cause the law on the streets says 'don't snitch'.

When do dads get to be dads again,

Holding up an unsteady child on a bike

Instead of lifting a too small casket

Walking daughters down the aisle

Or sending sons out into the world

Instead of looking down on them

Through tear-filled eyes.

When do mothers get to stop crying

Soul piercing screams as the collapse to the ground

Running to the scene where their child took their last breath

Not enough yellow tape in the world to contain the hurt.

When do mothers get to be mothers again

Healing wounds that require only a bandage and a kiss

To make it all better

Cheering at sports events

Or watching grandchildren being born

Instead of gazing through photo albums

And wondering what could have been.

And I don't think it’s a coincidence

That every time another life ends tragically

It rains soon after.

I imagine that God weeps also

That He must be tired of seeing

White t-shirts with photos on the front,

Drinks poured out on the ground,

Sneakers tossed over electrical lines

Reminding us that another person

Will not live long enough to chase dreams

Or outrun demons.

I imagine that God must be tired

But the question remains....

When will we be?