I’m not a politician, but please

let me advocate for your words 

falling on deaf ears;

I hear you.

Impress upon me your pain,

your suffering.

Transport me into

your world.

I want to help you.

I’m not an artist, but for you

I would create a million paintings

Depicting your suffering.

Your bombed-out dwelling, no longer suitable as a house,

And your decimated village

Should be seen by the world.

The horror

And fear that you must live in…

A painting shall be constructed,

In honor of your once home being destroyed.

I’m not a poet, but

For the innocent war victims and their ramshackle homes

Left broken, utterly beyond repair,

I’d write a poem for them.

I’d carve their pain,

Upon a paper

Preserving it

For decades.

The inflictors had no remorse

For the grave pain they caused.

For it led many to an early grave.

I’m not a historian, but for you

I’d teach the youth about you and your hardships,

In the hopes of history not to repeat itself.

I could hopefully prevent

Hiroshima,

Nagasaki,

And the Boston Marathon Bombings.

I’m not a soldier, or a world leader,

But I have a heart filled with sympathy

For the victims of war-stricken countries.

But please, let me be part of this tsunami

Of chanting, this chant of revival.