Life Means Something
The way the world turns now-a- days,
There are people
That are being forgotten.
Lives are being taken away,
Souls are being stolen
In what seems like
It's in vein.
Young children are being sent to war
Not knowing whether
They will return home
Walking on two feet,
Or arrive in a wooden box.
Flags may fly high,
But, really....
Whom do they fly high for?
The living?
The dead?
Flags are not important,
But, what is important,
Is a person's life.
Life means something.
Some people don't care
Whether others live or die,
Dollar signs flash in their eyes.
All they see is another body
Of rotting flesh,
Or on the other hand,
Bare, broken bones
Being dumped into a six foot hole.
Stop throwing dirt
Into the faces of the living.
Life means something.
Copyright Cynthia Jones
June.1/2006
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Life Means Something
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