By j. howe

Paralyzed by anger and by fear

On my pillow I shed a tear.

Those pictures from the media

Television, magazines, radio

The world has stopped in a track

Of horror, blood, and death,

The skies are grey with clouds of black.

I must not lose hope

Yet I cannot cope.

If only I believed in prayer

The tears, the screams,

The vacant stares

Haunt me in my dreams.

This war is not mine to fight

My fear for those poor souls in flight

My anger at those who cannot see

The futility of bombs and missiles

To change a culture and belief.

Rogue righteousness has taken hold

Ordinary folks have no control

So race to camps to arrive

And die of hunger, thirst, not survive.

How can this be?

While I dump compost in a heap

Where is fairness, equality

World justice, and peace?

Late Jean Howe was a resident of Dome Creek. B.C.