If the world could be written

If the world was written in sand

Then everything that was built by hand

Would be washed away, with every wave:

What we speak, how we often behave

If the world was written on wood

Then everything that is then could

Drift away on an endless ocean

Every thought, every emotion

If the world was written on paper

Then everything that was saved for later

Could be lost in a blazing fire

Like the sins we so harshly desire

If the world was written on glass

Then everything could easily pass

Unnoticed, and, so easily shattered

Like the tears that often are scattered

If the world was written on ice

Then everything that would suffice

Would melt in an ocean of grief

Filled with fear and with no relief

If the world was written on stone

Then everything that could have been blown

Would remain, endlessly present

Like our love, our kindness, our heaven

If the world was written like this,

Then everything would have been bliss.

Yet, the world is written in blood

In despair and darkness and mud

In pain, sadness and terror

Crushing us without error.