As we remain, not wanting to see the troubling world,
We can’t help but leave our eyelids,
Remaining open to view all the violence.
Leaving even the most passionate writers, writeless.
The world is crumbling inside of us,
And there is not much we can do without simple guidance.
Where is our help through all this silence?
I can’t take it much more, I may as well die first.
At times, the sudden break of the world,
Results in my poetry being rhymeless,
I just hope someday soon we can get past this.