A tattered, torn paper floating with the wind
carries stories of injustice that make our minds spin.
Letters of resentment fill the page,
the letters spell entrapment, tragedy and rage whispering hatred
of a foreign way.
So why claim
to understand the mixed up violence of another land
when our children sleep in beds with sugar-plum-fairies in their heads
placed there on command?
A child holds a gun,
finger shaking on the trigger, in a world so close
to our own Tele-violence
where death is entertainment; how do we figure?
His consequence is small, necessity slapped in our face
the cough and shuffle silence puts us in our place.
An everyday existence,
Clouds hanging heavy wash away fears, blinded is reality
when the sky is falling.
We are all mirrors accepting new ways, cellophane souls
Satisfied but ignorant and ignorance is bliss.
So wash away my tears.