The news drives despair.
I switched the station to anchors,
who recited talking points.
Their deadpan stares screamed of apathy.
Nothing I give could change
the carpet bombing overseas
and my ears ring with desperation.
The suffering of the innocent
bleeds me dry.
My tears burn my skin.
I suspended the belief
in happiness.
I exhaled pain
in the hope
those men behind desks
pushing war to settle
a score left unsettled
until the need for another
war presents itself
for re-election.
And the people,
who suffer will still
elect the same people
who hid in their mansions
while they suffered under rubble.
I lifted my gaze
to a round-eyed expression.
I call for heaven to God
to destroy his enemies,
but my hands aren’t all that clean, either.