SYRIANS MADE A MISTAKE

Peacefully they had marched on Voices raised, not fists Pleading for freedom, For a chance to breathe without fear. But what truly is freedom? Is it worth twelve million displaced souls Cities leveled into dust And dreams buried beneath rubble? What began as peaceful Became a wound the world blinked past Sores etched into memory Scars broadcast, then forgotten. The headlines have moved on But the grief remains Mothers still hold pictures Fathers still dig with bare hands. We all say we want peace But does peace bloom from war Or from compassion that costs us nothing? Why must love be so rare it becomes rebellion?