Stone Cold Reality

Stone cold reality
Feels like brutality.
If a plane crashed in front of me
I don’t think I would see:
The pain in the children’s eyes,
The plane hidden, its fiery guise,
Shrapnel flying through the air,
But don’t think I don’t care.
A father falls in a rain of lead;
Broken, lying, left for dead.
His child praying every night
Her dad did will be on the next flight.
How do I phrase the bad news?
How do I step into her tiny shoes?





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