walking on dirt roads owned by Kings

I wonder America
While the children play upon dirt roads
In poor garb
Their Mothers numb with prayer, the thoughts and words seem to suffocate,
Birth or just some release of the soul
(the pain in life, knowing you must pray, to remain alive, [while the bombs drop], a scream to the open air)

You can see the inner being scream by way of their Silent expressions in that box to the side of the talking head
[why should they , express any other emotion, but Numb and silent , it’s the most holy of prayers, when you have nothing but silence to offer, when you have nothing to live for]

The Middle East , Salaam and Democracy

I wonder how many lives could we save if we took note of those lives
Lost,
for the Rights of Humanity,
here in America, their hell is caused by our Ignorance , children spoiled and who forgot the pain and work of Grand Fathers

I wonder did mothers walk dirt roads in poor garb, suffocating from just the thoughts of inner prayer,

their silent faces a window to the soul
a window of God mourning,

Walking upon Streets owned by
kings,