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Ghosts

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We can't say the past gave us no warning.
Ghosts that lurk in the shadows of old churches
are there as a constant reminder,
but somehow we blindly ignore them.
The ghosts that linger by the edge of the woods
whisper that conflict brings only pain,
still, we turn a blind eye and ignore them.
Someday, we'll wish we had listened.
The plea that war can bring nothing good
is echoed in the thin voices of a thousand starving children.
Someday, we'll wish we had helped them-
our lost courage found too late.
Bony, dark-eyed children huddle in a corner,
their eyes reflecting the firefly lights of a stolen childhood.
The world watches in horror until it's too late,
cradled in our sheltered lives with our dreams still intact.
Bombs and gunfire light the sky over children who crouch in the street.
Hearts pound, even though war is as familiar to them as their mother's touch.
With every explosion they can feel their fragile dreams shatter like glass-
they pray they'll be alive to pick up the pieces.
Our own hearts pound and our breath comes quick:
how can we watch and not act?
If we wait much longer, we'll be the only ones left to sift through the pieces.
It's time we stop freezing in fear.
We cannot watch and not act.
It's time to come out of the shadows
to save those who are frozen in fear,
waiting, praying, that they'll live another day.





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