It is a pity,
It is a shame.
It is horror,
It is the blind eye,
It is the deaf ear.
It is the incinerated blood,
It is the limbs lost
And the bodies segmented.
It is the hollow promises,
It is the drawing-room threats.
It is the leaders of nations
Leading nowhere their nation wants.
It is the voices of the horrified,
It is the shouts of the disgusted,
It is the anger of those who
Return to roof and walls,
Water and heat, and weep
At what they have, unsharable.
The ordinary made shaming,
The everyday so everyday
It no longer can be,
Become impossible, and so routine
The access is oppressive,
To have with such ease
And allowance, when there isn't
There.
There, where they die.
There, where they scar in parts.
There, where families cease
In such huge numbers
No family here we reckon as.
They knew to the third and fourth
And more degree, of family.
Gone.
Names are lost, faces excised,
Hearts stilled, souls shrunk.
Let
This
Not
Happen.
Further.