We are the privileged,
Living loudly
In comfort and ease.
We do not
Concern ourselves
With those sad thoughts,
Like the screaming
Of a mother
Begging for her children.
The muffled cries
Of a teenage boy
Trapped under the remains
Of a loving home.
The blood that runs
From a little girl\'s ears,
Her fear-filled eyes
Watching
Another bomb fall.
We wake up late
To soft music,
Deciding to visit
The new coffee place
At the end of the street,
While one flight away,
A father clings
To his son\'s broken body
As another soldier
Raises his gun.