Today a child dies in Bangladesh
I pay little attention:
Actually none at all.
That kind of thing has been going on for so long...
Anyway, what can I do?
A circle of living corpses whisper wordless prayers,
weep in tear-less agony -- for themselves.
The child is now free.
A town lies buried in Italy today.
I watch the news and am horrified...
for a moment.
Natural disaster is part of living in this world.
We must all face it.
An old woman mourns the grandchild she will never hold again --
grieves for laughter that lies buried
in a communal grave.
A young woman dies slowly, each drink
adds to the fear, the hate.
She is to blame.
There is help at the Center for those
who really want it.
Her blinded eyes see only the times she did reach out
and was maimed by a Cross-shaped sword.
Her need was her only shame.
My little girl's yellow balloon burst today.
Unexpectedly moved --
her tears wet my face.
It's only a balloon -- they burst.
Why should I mourn?
Her laughter that warms me with joy dissolves into heartbreak.
Is it possible, for an instant, I shed my dispassion
and weep for a toy?
I do not weep for a yellow balloon;
I weep for her --
I feel her pain.
I love her -- and what touches her
touches me.
Oh my God -- a dead child, a buried town,
a woman alive yet living in death ...
They are Your children -- they hurt.
You feel their pain.
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