Privilege

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.