by Judaea Libera
Hardship either forges
or destroys us.
The edge of a sword gets pounded many times
and returned to the fire
to emerge at last resilient and refined.
I have no answer for assaults upon my people or my soul;
for lies that glorify angry mobs
fueling their hunger for our children’s breath.
No magic spell for spinning sorrow into gold
or being sharpened by the fire
into something agile, light, and strong.