The cold and lonely wasted worn
forgotten urchins of the night,
now suffer spiteful, hurtful scorn;
still punished for their painful plight.

Their sunken eyes like walking dead
with hunger need they cannot feed,
are filled with fear and darkened dread;
the victims of a guiltless greed.

They suffer from a shattered mind
with broken bodies from the street.
No doctors can they ever find,

just healers from the street they meet.

This human tragedy was born
inside the cities of this land.
Proud people now all tattered-torn,
who hate to take the helping hand.

Our moral compass gone astray,
we carry on with no concern,
with bright delight for our new day;
compassion gone with no return.

The devastated discontent
from policies so brazen blind,
lays at the feet of government
that left our brothers far behind.

Our taxes taken for a war
that reasoned people now detest
and when we ask what is this for:
"to help Iraqis' freedom quest."

Our charity should start right here,
not in that nation filled with hate;
for everything that we hold dear;
just leave them to their own sad fate.

What learned logic did they use,
to slowly strip our treasure bare,
then help those people who abuse
each other's rights without a care?

What deadly disregard for life;
they murder, maim and decimate.
We are involved in civil strife,
that we did not investigate.

Let's rearrange priorities
by concentrating on our lost.
Destroy our own inequities
no matter what the final cost.

Learn more about this author, Tom Mcmurray.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.

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