Silence

A cry out into the night of a
desperate child

brings a chill down the spine of
spoiled minds --

and the weeping of babes is but a strange lullaby
to people who see only others
as the possible alibi. 

The ringing out of the emergency toll

brings a detriment unto empty souls,
better to hide our heads and sigh,
than feed the need to fight or die.

Listen high,

to the children cry;

there's nothing we can do about it now,

so what's the point to even try?

The death of many,

the death of few, 

comes quicker now

to souls anew. 

So hang your heavy heads,
swallowed up in sorrow,
gurgling and drowning in regret 

-- and cry.