Before I can post a picture of a burning sky
And land,
Of bodies divided like a cruel math problem,
Poets will write new lines
With new breaks and new heartbreaks
Baffled by and tired of
Tragic mistakes.
My armchair finance specialist counts days
Elections, wars, hopefully-rising stocks,
The moon goes around the earth as always 
But we will not hear the children again.
I beg people to care 
Even though I don't, at the meat of things,
I just want a good life, with good food,
With children and their annoying shrieks.