Dear Diary


Dear Diary,
I know it’s very late at night,
I know I should be asleep,
But this endless sea of nightmares,
Plagues me in my dreams.

All I hear is crying,
While men and women scream,
And little children wonder,
From where did all this stream?

All I see are lifelong works,
Of artistry being burned,
While the scholars stand and sob,
At the knowledge being purged.

The sky is scorched from flame and smoke,
The streets are red with blood,
And men and women choke,
As their terror spreads and floods.

I recognize this horror,
This butchery of innocence,
This endless cinema of daily life,
That’s left us so ethnically cleansed.

Is this what they call desensitizing?
If so, it’s worse than death,
To watch on television while others suffer,
And not even take in a breath.

Crossing the bridge from childhood into adolescence,
Is like traveling a road alone,
No adult with its comforting presence,
Only the media’s senseless drone.

I’ve grown accustomed to watching the carnage,
And the battering of souls,
While here I sit, safe from the pillage,
And the prejudice of the world.



-Elisabeth Spalding