Death is the same for all people,
But all deaths are not created equal;
A few gunshots here raises a rally
And a bomb overseas receives silence
Even though the screams of the victims, if heard,
Could make the strongest of us weep.
Instead, we ignore their cries –
We hide their pain from our eyes,
And then sensationalize
Only the blood under our skies.
This is the land of selfish,
Where we sing for the twenty here
And not the twenty-thousand there.
You can't compare two peoples' pain
Because every face looks the same
When etched with terror, sweat,
And hope for a future now shattered –
But it is a sin to notice one
And not the other corpse equally tattered.