Weary footsteps lead me
to sleep the sleep
of release
I bore witness to
the tragedy
War-torn storm surge
Flood waters; waves of death
visions of bodies drifting
hysteria
fills the eyes
of these streets
and I fade into slumber.

In the hopes that I forget
a fragment more
of memory’s ball and chain 
Thoughts of, “Was I part of the reason
we are all in disarray?”

“Is there blood on my hands
cursed by mistakes?”
After a sleepless night
I wander
these desperate early morning streets
Street corner poet preaching
her figures and features reaching
raise like a beacon
saying, “We're forsaken,
but not broken!” 
Then I heard her sing:

“Mother, your children
are dying as the city sleeps!
Mother, your people
are starving tonight!”
“Mother, your children
are dying as the city sleeps!
Mother, your people
are drowning in your apathy!”

Despair has a face
familiar to the city’s pace 
You can see it in their eyes 
I [bad word] to know
the price of neglected hearts 
daily reminder to ponder
with every single breath we take
The suffering remains
There's people filled with hate 
How long must we maintain?!
The cities war-torn face
cradles the wounded,
pleading for rescue.

Replace the city streets
with blood and debris 
Drag the waters for
broken homes 
Featureless landscapes; 
This is [bad word] devastation! 
This is [bad word] devastation! 
And their protest voices raise over explosions, pleading:

“Mother, your children 
are dying as the city sleeps!
Mother, your people 
are starving tonight! 
“Mother, your children
are dying as the city sleeps!
Mother, your people
are drowning in your apathy!”