Death, pain, and sorrow.

That's all that seems to follow.

You may not see it but it's there, 

yet no one seems to care,

About those hidden forgotten corners of the world where genocide still has its hook.

Flourishing, killing generations, destroying entire nations,

leaving nothing but,

Death, pain, and sorrow.

Death to children, death to men, death to all who don't fit in,

With their idea of the perfect skin, the perfect god without sin.

Syria, Kenya, Sahara, Bosnia, Sudan.

People are fighting for their lives, running till their last breath, sceaming for the chance to stay alive.

These screams can be heard from heaven above,

Yet no one is listening, answering, or caring.

Leaving these innocent people behind with only death, pain and sorrow.

The pain of the living is worse than the deads, 

Those who witness these atrocities, left to carry the wight of that death on their shoulders.

Unable to escape their painful recollections,

wishing they once had more protection.

Left to watch, left to sit, left to remember all that hit,

left with nothing but, death, pain, and sorrow.

With sorrow-filled hearts, and  sorrow-filled eyes,

survivors look up to the sky,

childless mothers, men without wifes, 

fatherless daughters of only five.

Lost, scared, confused, and distraught,

Everything they've ever had has been ripped from their hands,

they've watched as their world crumbled to pieces,

all that lies upon their feet is a pile of broken dreams, broken hearts, and broken wishes.

Yet they're still fighting through this death, and this pain, and this sorrow. 

In the hopes that they might have a tiny, miniscule glimpse of a chance to survive,

Yet just another genocide.