Look at them. Their eyes do not shine. They walk with a dreadful weight upon their frame, a cloud that follows overhead. All the time. Always on the brink of storm. How wearying . . . I am so glad I'm not an antifa!
I pray, Father, you help these ones who scream and hate and hurt, who are tossed violently by every wave like ships without an anchor. Help them, please, for they are not a happy people.
Photograph: antifa protests, unknown
