Grief and illness,

fear and restlessness,

these horrors brand,

upon children of foreign lands.

 

Living in affluence,

without consequence,

children free to dream,

whose faces always beam.

 

What is in a dream?

Are they mankind's seams?

No, dreams are more

they make us soar

 

Alas, foreign children can not dream,

or be deaf to each other's screams,

where they meet the crematory,

before, their actions deviate them from purgatory.

 

The world has been changed by words,

and reborn through glorified swords,

but can it be through a scapel,

a young man, and a satchel?

 

Only time will tell,

but listen well.

My dream,

is to gift a dream.