The words of familiarity wash over her like the river washes over granite.
She, too, has become hardened, etched by the constant pounding,
The constant news.
Another life lost.
Another senseless shooting.
In the history of her soul she wonders when the shackles will return.
She looks and sees that they never left.
It is morning so she goes about her normal routine.
She makes breakfast,
fixes her hair,
prepares herself for work.
Outside a flag waves,
full staff,
in defiant recognition.
Although sacrifices have been made
change is never gonna come.
She picks up her bible
and clutches it to her heart.
She wonders how much longer
before the last ounce of hope is broken.
