Savage statistics and bloodied lies
We cannot grieve for numbers,
They have no faces.
We cannot mourn statistics,
They have no souls.
The number four brings no tears;
Yet name it as years lived,
And there our pain seeks us,
In the numerical deficit of a life.
We cannot scream for fifteen hundred;
Now show us bodies of the dead,
Wrapped in uniform shrouds of war,
Then our cries will shatter minds.
One hundred thousand does not sear us,
Blacken our hearts in fiery shame;
We label them collateral damage,
A coward's words, negating guilt.
We dare not call them by their names,
Husbands, mothers, children, babies.
We hide behind our shield of numbers,
Savage statistics and bloodied lies.
Once upon a time I was a fat little caterpillar whose contented munching was disturbed by visions of bright wings flying free in a world beyond the cabbage patch. When my caterpillar form could no longer contain that dream I entered the Chrysalis where thought became form. This is my journey.Walk with me.This is simply who I am.
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