by Linda Frank
Upon myself I take their sorrows.
A heart so burdened by the weight.
My pace grows slowed and labored
With knowledge of their destined fate.
I do not deign to say “I know”
For that is not my right to feel.
But of their lives,
So callous held
By others who’d not think me real,
To be so bothered
And seek from harm
The ones who cannot shout...
Mercy's pleas are little heard
Above the deaf and hardened crowd.
Yet in my saddened, stifled heart
Silent cries ring clear and loud.