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Syrian Boy 

In the midst of tragedy and suffering
there is the earth's insistent beauty.

A Syrian boy sits
Alone on a plastic chair
Covered in soot
His child hand wiping his brow
His eyes recognize
It is his blood
He solemnly transfers
Across his shirt.

Having been pulled
For an hour from the rubble
Too traumatized to cry
As he surely did
When he was pulled from his mother
Brought into this world
In a war torn region.

When will we listen
When will we hear
The cries of the earth
As well as our own
We her children?

How do we juxtapose the earth's insistent
beauty and the horrors that were done
to this Syrian boy.

Lori Cole

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Lori Cole

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