a poem in my pocket

Weep, cry, wail, mourn, grieve

for refugees coming

across rough seas

on an over-crowded

raft or the immigrants

risking midnight run

through wild desert

all young sex slaves

and child brides who

grow up/old too fast

on twisted un-love of

a childhood missed,

an innocence lost

the wives who feel

un-cherished or the

husbands who are

under-appreciated

and senior citizens

who go unnoticed

the friends, family

who suffer alongside

those held hostage

by mental illness or

cancer’s grip or HIV

no good end in sight

for unborn babies

denied of person-

hood and a life, seen

as inconvenience and

an inter-ruption with

no voice or sanctuary

all victims of terror-ism

by wrong religion or

wrong politics or being

simply in wrong place

at the wrong time in a

wrong-headed world,

sick from sin, weary of the wait, longing for home.