Make Me Worth Saving
Make me human,
with the stroke of a pen.
Make me a memory,
with the wave of a hand.
Make me worth saving.
Canvas prisons, tent pole cities,
December winds, cold with suspicion.
Stench of the frozen living,
purity of the frozen dead.
Death awaits life’s white flag,
in souplines under red crosses.
The dead come and go,
the living stay behind.
Hollow eyes weep empty promises,
into the snot rags of the rich.
Prayers to the west,
make me worth saving.
Mass exodus, penning the innocent,
populations caged on a map.
Leaders proclaim victory,
on the corpse of innocence
On the back of humanity;
the dead come and go.
The ignorance of so many,
to the words of so few.
Satan smiles among the masses,
no one worth saving.
Death acknowledges life’s surrender,
under white flags and red crosses.
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