When I say it isn’t right but thank God she didn't die.

When I say it isn’t right
But thank God she didn’t die.

These happenings seem so unreal
I know I am not in charge of the world

I am no one why do I try and define justice?
I realize I ought not to be but my mind refuses to stop.

I so many places I find myself pointing out faults and blemishes,

Seeing hurting family’s and struggling sons,
Wandering daughters far from home.

I wonder, why am I so critical?
What good is noticing so many wrongs?
All I can do is beg and plead for a change
Lacking control over even one single thing

I want to live my life bringing hope
Somehow finding a way
To right a good many wrongs