that the wars do not touch me is no excuse
they touch my heart soul conscience that I
am well fed and safe no excuse it goes on
without me I cannot not mention it telling
poems of war bad taste reserved directly
experienced suffering damaged the dead
can't speak they accuse us silently I hear
permission not to revise the little machine
clicks or not as if I knew better than to lie
not truth but truly there are few soldiers
here I like it especially well but no excuse
not to notice acknowledge broken doors
humiliation fear hate waves from around
the world drench us in the blood of others
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