In the noise of the world
The never-ending chaos
There\'s a cable buried,
Thick as a baby\'s arm.
It hums with currents,
Pulsing beneath our feet
As we walk unaware,
Searching for its plug.
The black nights come,
Whispering unknowns,
Yet here’s a light socket
In the heart\'s dark room.
We plug in and suddenly
The room blooms with laughter,
The kind you hear in the mess
Of a busy kitchen at supper.
When the earth heaves a sorrow,
And the skies choke with grief,
We knit together, stitch by stitch,
A blanket of small acts.
It doesn’t matter if it rains
Or if the blanket never warms.
Our hands are alive on the loom,
And so, we have purpose.