From a safe, soft couch with the television on,
they blessed the wreckage with the sign of the cross;
Typed “thoughts and prayers”, hit post, job done,
they smelled no smoke, yet claimed the loss.
No call, no knocking with casseroles in hand,
just pixelated pity floating through their feeds;
Drowning in a sea they’ll never understand,
while they toss empty hope out as glorious deeds.
Inspired by Joe Nichols Substack write ‘Thoughts and Prayers, You Pitiful Bastards‘ (maybe requires subscription)
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
