There is no way to sugar coat this pill;

The empty arm which dangles from the bricks

Defies all thoughts and prayers and commentary.

The old man howling for his missing wife,

His private grief invaded by the hacks,

Speaks words of simple, bitter dignity,

For viewing on the global carousel.

As leaders bring their unkept promises,

The numbers climb, as on election night.

The crowd clings to the arms of survival,

Deep in suspicion that there is no god,

And that humanity, for all its tricks,

Its flashy, amplified bells and whistles,

Still flounders in its varnished box of shame.