Why, why, why?

Is this time to be torn by the pattern woven by men?

Do lives creep silently to catch a breath just for a moment in a light that will never set upon them?

Hurling through concrete hoops to land on melted asphalt to be trapped by the creations they have made.

Can they complain?

Do they have a right?

They made it.

They were the forces that shoved it down the throats of others.

Helplessness has been rewarded with gloating over the fall of the mighty movers of all.

The meek and the earth,

They shall inherit.

But is the earth our home or heaven?

The meek of what shall inherit which?

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