Why

It’s not because they look like me;

It’s not because their world seems just

Like mine. It’s not because I cry

More for their child than those who died

Before.

These aren’t the things that frighten me,

That drive me to the news each night,

That make me read intensely of

The progress and the cruel plight

Of war.

My fear is that the battle ground

Encompass all, because the sound

Of fury with the lethal might

Of weapons flying day and night,

Is more.

It’s more than death of wife or child,

Of soldier, town or village, for

Before us stands the death of life

Itself, at one misstep, destruction

Sure.

And so I cry.