W.C.N.S.F.

W.C.N.S.F.

Did you ever think that in your First World lifetime

There would come to be a horrifyingly familiar acronym

W.C.N.S.F.

How awful, you’d think, as you scroll away on your screens.

But stop! A precious child- just like yours, just like mine

A young child, pulled from the rubble

Her living hands pried from the clutches of her dead mother

By the dusty multitude of unfamiliar faces and incoherent wails.

Wrenched from the unthinkable, lifted into the incomprehensible

Away from all she has ever known and loved.

Do you look away, or do you reach out towards the empty eyes

Of the Wounded Child No Surviving Family?

TMD 4/5/24

30-day Poem Prompts by @beausia

April 5: W.C.N.S.F.

#napowrimo

#poemprompts

#poemswithbeau

#palestine