Targets, a poem

Give them a target.

Give them someone to blame.

Someone to dream of lynching.

The smell of bloody revenge,

even in a proxy cyber world.

Give them soap box.

Give them someone to shout at.

Someone to judge and flay.

The intoxication of hindsight,

even if they have no clue.

Why isn't anyone shouting?

Why isnt anyone crying?

There is a small body forgotten.

Broken and left alone.

Someone knew and stayed silent.

Someone could have spoken,

and did not say a word.

Why aren't we searching for the

next child to save?

Why aren't we doing more than

lighting porch lights?

A small life, trusting and fragile.

A life which we did nothing to save.

A life which we forget in the frenzy,

the 'injustice' and the knot tying.

The injustice is this,

we are always showing up

too late to the gunfight,

knife in hand and no clue.

People why aren't we showing

love, protection and caring

to these the smallest of the 

'least of these'?

Instead of tying nooses

and building gallows,

shouldn't we be protecting,

sheltering, loving and saving?

It would have taken one voice,

just one, loud enough to be heard,

but it seems easier to be silent then,

and cry when it is too late.

Copyright Shanyn Silinski 2011