who live under bombs falling children
nearby who have lost more than anyone
should ever lose in a lifetime
living in tents, among mud
and for mothers who send their children
out each morning to queue
for a day’s ration of soup to keep
the family from starving children
who have become wise
in the cruelty of the world children
who have seen white body bags
have heard adults mourning losses children
who stand with mouths agape, eyes
wide as saucers as they learn
what the world is, what hate looks like
our prayers are our only weapons
politicians spew political dogma, alliances
and treaties as they call for peace
but there is no peace as barefoot children
gingerly carry pots of soup back to their tents
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