Lenses

They offer you their lenses,

to filter the streams of colour

blazing in your direction,

so that you might see more clearly.

You press them into your eyes,

not questioning the giver,

fearing the effects of the view,

should you ever want to see.

A child falls motionless by the wall,

built to divide, infused with hate -

two perpetrators, one accused,

condemned by a crosshair target.

There is war everywhere, they say,

but we only want peace, they say,

as another bomb explodes at our feet,

planted by those offering lip-service.

You see snapshots and curated images,

hear the cries of the chosen ones,

while the hidden puppeteers continue

pulling the strings of the marionnettes.

The lens wearer has been desensitised,

transformed by years of erosion.

Silently and willingly we all fall captive

to those who only want to hurt us.