You Don't Know

 You don't know the wonderful people

you are wanting to kill. 

The sweets and tea they would give you

if you stopped by their place

and the names of their children

and the names of their dead. 

You don't know how they pray

or the secret thoughts they have

that prayer is not enough,

and the times it feels like so much. 

How can I tell you they don't know you

but they would understand your rage

if it came to them from just you:

one person, telling them the horror 

from your soul, and you would know them by the 

horror they can also tell. 

We are born to feel pain

but to bear it together

lightens it. 

And if we could bear with one another better

we might survive anything.

You don't know:

we might!