Syria

A shot in the fog, a yelp in the wind
How many bodies must be strewn
Across the tattered crimson streets
For them to notice our despair?

Each act of violence a simple plea
To distance from your gadgets
And reacquaint with torn humanity
We cannot do this on our own

An infant dragged from the spill
His bright future swiftly denied
At least let him be an example
Instead of an object among many

Hands outstretched toward the heavens
A gentle reminder of some distant place
Only conjured by the imagination
A vehicle for those restless souls

(Summoned in response to the Syrian conflict)