In hovels they exist
starvation
Sickness, death,
Their neighbour
Human wreckage
Flung upon some
Foreign shore,
By the ever surging
Tides of war,
They lie forgotten
Rotting there
And we who pass
Avert our eyes
Lest we see
Their God forsaken,
Misery,
For knowing not
Is caring not
And caring not
Brings peaceful
Slumbers
Yet they are there
Like an angry
Wound
Unclean, untended.
A septic sore
On humanities soul
They are the unwanted
1949
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