Easy

It's easy to sit on the fence and watch; while heads roll and the cloud darkens. Its easy to talk while standing on the other side of the divide and scream "Na wa o!
Its easy to pull a crowd of microphone carrying people to a podium and speak through their speakers, to their microphones, feigning innocence, annoyance and sincere apology. Its easy to point fingers to the other one but not to the one standing before the mirror.

Its easy because an extension of myself by blood most importantly, wasn't cut off. Its easy because the one who I share the same blood and genes with is sitting with me and we are speaking about it and none of us are crying.
Is it easy for the one who is left alone, oy got lucky because he didn't sleep at home the night before. Now he's weeping and wailing because its not easy to be left alone by the very same people you called a few hours ago, telling them you were on your way. Is it easy for the one who watch from a distance while his place of shelter is razed down, dark clouds forming from the smoke going up. Is it easy for the one who's looking at an extension of his hand across him where he lays, writhing in pain.
Its easy for the one who's not affected. Shame on the dead. Its not easy; its never the same for the victim.


They're dead.
They are gone.
They hope we rise.
They wait for our rise.
In their wait, they wait for our wake.
No, not to kill again for their sake.
Now, just to address what's at stake.
We rise for peace.
We