A quiet scream for help

Prompters are bleeding words of death,
scratching my eyes, stabbing my soul.
Radio news are flowing slowly but steadily
like drying blood, poisoning the air.
Apocalypse images are wounding TV screens
showing a palpable nightmare.

I'm just sitting staring at the wall.
The inner wall.
Can I cross it? Can I break it?
What should I do? How should I act?

If I would turn my words into bombs
it'll be useless: their souls are already desert.
If I would turn my words into roses
it'll be useless: nothing can live on desert.

I'm impotent, I'm powerless.
All I can do is to lie down
these words in a quiet scream for help.
Help me to understand!
Help me find a way to stop these murders!
Help me regain the faith in humanity!

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