The Ones Not Forgotten
So many names on the page today, so many more gone— vanished into silence.
Does the world still care? I know they do.
I hope they do.
Children stolen, ripped from the arms that once held lullabies.
Teens slipping through dusk, running from homes that never saw them, or saw too much.
The ones who cared are left holding echoes. The ones who didn’t never noticed the absence.
But somewhere, a mother plants lavender beneath a window left ajar— its scent lifting like a prayer for the ones not yet home.
Somewhere, a name is spoken aloud, not forgotten. A candle burns in protest, its flame refusing silence.
We gather the fragments, press them into poems, into pages that refuse to turn away.
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