This was prompted by various newspaper stories. The murder of a young girl whose body was found at the lakeshore under rocks in garbage bags, a mother who was selling her young daughter, war orphans, etc. It intends to remind us just how easily the horrific can become "just another news item".
THE DAILY NEWS
They find the pieces covered up with stones
The garbage bags a shroud that she must wear
Her fragile flesh eroded from the bones
A victim of the crime whose guilt we share.
The smile so shy, the trust that all is right
Her innocence screams at you from the page
The little hand that needs to be held tight
The picture taken just before the rage.
She is dressed up in her princess dress today
Her eyes so dark, and little face so pale
With Mommy, who has told her what to say
Not knowing she’s a little girl for sale.
The children of the war, behind the wire
An empty bowl and gut, the empty eyes
The burning tropic sun their daily pyre
We’re glad we cannot hear their feeble cries.
She’s dressed in red and on the corner hooking
Her childhood gone when Uncle came to stay
Still innocent despite the way she’s looking
But God does not hear hookers when they pray.
Their faces in the papers every day
The children that we let them throw away
So common that it’s only daily news.
But haunted eyes stare out and say J’accuse.
And we are guilty
for we have thrown away the millstone!
THE DAILY NEWS
They find the pieces covered up with stones
The garbage bags a shroud that she must wear
Her fragile flesh eroded from the bones
A victim of the crime whose guilt we share.
The smile so shy, the trust that all is right
Her innocence screams at you from the page
The little hand that needs to be held tight
The picture taken just before the rage.
She is dressed up in her princess dress today
Her eyes so dark, and little face so pale
With Mommy, who has told her what to say
Not knowing she’s a little girl for sale.
The children of the war, behind the wire
An empty bowl and gut, the empty eyes
The burning tropic sun their daily pyre
We’re glad we cannot hear their feeble cries.
She’s dressed in red and on the corner hooking
Her childhood gone when Uncle came to stay
Still innocent despite the way she’s looking
But God does not hear hookers when they pray.
Their faces in the papers every day
The children that we let them throw away
So common that it’s only daily news.
But haunted eyes stare out and say J’accuse.
And we are guilty
for we have thrown away the millstone!
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