I’m desensitized to the burning flags
on highways or kids spread across
JFK Airport for a cause they don’t
care about because if they did,
maybe they’d protest for kids
killed in Yemen.
What’s that?
Oh, the silence echoes its stillness
through the streets.
Bombs missed guided targets,
collapsing Bethlehem bridges.
Names penned on bombs
exploding dreams, but a flag,
well, it was still waving somewhere.
Somewhere safe from the shed blood,
whipping in the wind like a wet towel,
slapping against a concrete floor.
Casualties lack names or faces
to share memories with nightly stories.
Another death to count,
another funeral to sort out.
The end in sight is the light at the end
of a tunnel, drowning in mercy.
The suffering of the guiltless
has me wide awake.