Despicably Numb Poem by Matthew Stiles

The truth is the truth
Yet still we allow ourselves to be so aloof
Even when we must have seen all the proof
The gears are turning
The fears are churning
There is no abatement
The signs are so blatant
Our capacity for concern; why is it so vacant?
Haven't we hearts?
Are we so pulled apart
Numb and blind in the dark
So deep in divisiveness
Derelict dismissive bliss
Awash in wayward wickedness
More willing to weigh in on the weather than worldly woes of weeping women and children as they wither away, laid to waste, wiped out, thrown too the wayside? Should we not fear the sickness of spirit that compels us to further engorge our overly swollen American egos, which are already so drunken with pride, rather than address the incessant suffering and injustice? From this do our hearts not sink?
About such things it's as if we ought not think
We hold higher the value of vanity than spiritual sanity
Such a costly calamity for the whole of humanity
Such a costly calamity for the whole of humanity