As I watch him hang,
the rusty blood fills the air
as they beat him with a
metal chair, then a stick.
They don’t care.

I stand
soft, illuminating,
grass tickles my feet.
The children, young and small,
gather here, more than in a classroom.

Do they see what I see?

A beautiful day bright with heat
turned dark and gray,
beating on their souls.
I can taste their fear.

Is he breathing, is he there?

We aren’t aware and obviously
don’t care, as he is being beaten
his life being taken.
We just stand here and stare,
blind to the cruelty and ruthlessness
of the world, our world.