We complain because the tea is cold.

Or that our wedding ring is not pure gold

In the world small children live in fear

Or have no food at all and death is near

Everything is relative yet clear

The cold hand on the heart the soldier’s spear

I still like this very much

The confusing swirl of violence broke down walls
And panic rushed in through the holes and gaps
I saw folk taking photos, checking maps,
Their phones gripped like a weapon that appals.

We see then what comprises our defence.
The connection to our family and friends.
The need to make a record of the end.
The need to look again till it makes sense.

I felt a well-known numbness cover me
My heart needs its own time to feel the pain
The world I live in is not safe, that’s plain.
From Al Jazeera to the BBC.

The masks of innocence deceive.
Hatred of this kind is misconceived.