Wednesday, December 14, 2016

Given Scenes Like Aleppo

What was the stroke of luck,
That put me in this place?
Complaining it's too hot with ice outside,
Privileged sex and race.

First world woes, like what's the meaning of life,
Though, the question still stands,
When ev'ry hospital and school's been bombed,
Only a Death Road as an escape plan,

It's trite to be grateful for all you have,
Ev'rything's rel'tive, right?
The breath in my lung's a glorious thing,
In a war-torn, bleak blight,
So reject it,
Refuse to live in peace,
Until all people can reject it, too,
With the cool arrogance of the elite.

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