when a desperate hand reaches out

from underneath the rubble

when it is covered with blood

and finds only hostile air to grasp

what comfort the reason for such destruction

the dust-filled sky the awful silence

the occasional lightning strikes of grief

torn from throats raw beyond measure

what matter now the distant machinations

each of us knows the pain of loss

each of us knows the sorrow

how then do we walk away from this suffering

our own house in ruins

our own bodies wounded and broken

our own voices scraped by tears