It is not my blood
that wets the tattered rags,
soft skin
slowly paling,
mother loudly wailing
waking anyone near
to the agony
that other mothers
come to fear.

It is not my family
shattered,
blood splattered
buried under
tons of rubble,
and lost to
man-made devastation.

It is not my neighborhood,
my hood is real good,
safe and clean
no one hears a scream
cause there are no
military bombings
breaking down everything.

But these are my tears,
this is my fear
to hear clear
the horrible pain
of those that
my leaders claim
deserve to be hurt.

It is not my country,
but they are all my people
and if I am a decent human being
then I must share these things
bare these thoughts
bring these words
so, all can see the cost
of inhumanity.