*****
All this malice
All this war
We don’t even understand
What we’re really fighting for
So much sorrow
Everywhere
This kind hidden over here
That kind hidden over there
Lonely people
Passing by
Each doing their very best
While “in public” not to cry
None of us
Are reaching out
To find out what that suffering
Is genuinely all about
If we knew
We’d make a fuss:
Most of it is
Caused by us
We could keep
Each other warm
When the skies are
Full of storm,
But forget
What storm’s about —
Instead, we
Throw each other out
*****
This poet is so poor that she can’t even pay proper attention. The littlest contribution, believe her, will be vastly appreciated —