The pale day was dying
into dusk as I awakened,
light like life fading,
and drinking warmth,
read the number of the new
dead growing cold,
whose eyes see nothing,
not the fading of the light,
not the black night,
the innocent dead
murdered by those
whose consciences
lie dead in their own
minds, feeling nothing,
endless night claiming,
and the number
was 96, and now 111,
of the innocent dead,
lives stolen as I slept
in my luxury of safety
when they died in fear.
18.11.2024
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