What has happened?

What has happened?

A poem for my family, because family is all that we have left

 

How can I be expected to,

Lie and shine on bright?

How can people ask of me,

To close my eyes and blind my sight?

 

Where is the line that should be etched,

Deep within our souls?

Where is the humanity,

Which should heal wounds and keep us whole?

 

When was it decided,

To plunge our mother into darkness?

And whom was so bold and terrible,

To steal our love and strike the sky so starless?

 

Where is the unity, which should be felt and well?

Where are the leaders who would lead us in and out of hell?

Where are the people who love, despite the suffering?

And where are the warmer winds, covering and comforting?

Who made this world unbearable, when tolerance had just begun?

What God from what religion is supposed to be for everyone?

Why must we even question all, what has become of us so small?

I question because of what we have become,

I question because I fear that soon we will all fall.

 

Their souls burn red, with flames we cannot see,

Terror is what they can spread, every minute that they walk free,

But yet we murder, those who murder us,

In hopes of cutting one head off, no more should grow superfluous,

We aggravate an endless cycle, we think that we can force reform,

We think that we are smarter always, we think that we can calm the storm.

 

And yet here I am, full with honesty,

For there is only one true way to revive what’s left of our harmony,

Our way of thought, our view on life,

Must change in whole to battle such strife,

It’s a mentality, which we must fight,

For killing here left and right,

Does not solve, anything,

It just provokes desire for might,

Change our thoughts before we try to change our sight.

And so here comes what must be the saddest part,

The last question which weighs so heavy on my heart,

How can we begin to change if only for a start?

Just a small change, less deaths more love,

How can we achieve these dreams?

I’d love to say through words and art,

I’d love to say through hugs and smiles,

But those won’t stop the growing piles.

 

Here are the words of a distraught young man,

I have no shame in admitting so, I feel more blessed because I can,

But I am most lost, for fear of the next day,

Fear of whom may be attacked and fear of what someone might say,

Fear of those who aim to spread fear,

Maybe I am letting them win, for me however nothing’s clear.

 

Pray not for a place, pray not for a man,

Pray for the world while we still can,

Pray for the world while the liberty’s still there,

Pray for the world while some still play fair.

 

By Marc Auf der Heyde, 17, John. F. Kennedy. School, Berlin, Germany