Sunday Stanza: Poem Forty Seven: Echoes By Hannah Williams

As the television transmits the news unable to peel the callous layers of her mind.
She owns a seared conscience which no longer flinch at the vivid violent paintings on her screen.

When the hunger of little children hums- she no longer feels guilty.
When the injustice harmonises with the defenceless- it no longer warrants her pity.
When death sings over nations- she no longer feels sadness.
When corruption chants dishonestly- she no longer calls it madness.

Echoes whispers
the equator set the precedence

As the smartphone announces itself by vibrating to alert her of the notifications.
She owns a conscience willing to bloom on social media where she becomes an
advocate for the ones she cared not.

Echoes whisper
the tweets set the precedence.

How do you tell her she owes the world nothing?
In silence or in deed, the world goes on.

Echoes whisper
the discontentment set the precedence.


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