Additional Poems about the Sad Part of Life

And The Children Die – A Poem about the Suffering Child

Filed in Death Poetry, Sad Poetry, Soul Searching Poetry, Virtue Poems & Lyrics, War Poetry by Barbara Tremblay Cipak on June 22, 2017 • 0 Comments • views: 3391

Feeling very overwhelmed about the suffering children on this planet, I needed to write the poem featured below.

I find myself thinking more and more about the child tucked under their covers in fear, without love, without nourishment, without hope, and, like you, I’m devastated. I get that “ache” in my stomach, the one where you wonder how it can be that some have to suffer so much, while others thrive. It can be a helpless feeling.
Quite frankly, this kind of pain suffered by the most innocent, sometimes makes me feel ashamed to be part of the human race.

Decades Ago I Wrote the above Paragraph and the Poem ‘And the Children Die’ – With Age has Come Wisdom – Here’s what I’ve figured out

Since originally writing this poem decades ago, I’ve come to see the world as a school, a giant global school, where we’re all here to learn from each other – The suffering teaches us compassion, kindness, endurance and hopefully tolerance.

It’s the only thing that makes sense. Each of us, no matter our plight during this earthly journey, serves a purpose … and our purpose is to serve.

The willing learn from every aspect of life, even and especially the horrible aspects of it. We are all teachers and students, here to pass our grade, and advance to our next level. Those who suffer have sacrificed the most to teach us the most.

And The Children Die…
Now I understand Now I know
Wall Decal of Anyway Poem
Older and wiser
I understand with pain in my stomach
The suffering of a child
I have lived to learn how unforgivable it is
to Standby while they die
A life like box in my living room tells me stories
Of babies who have no more tears to cry
Their blank stares begging for nothing
Their frail bodies exposed to us as evidence
As humanity sits by helpless, I Cry
What do I do while they die?
Am I an unwitting participant in this Me game?
Or worse, is it knowingly?
Am I forgiven because I cry?
Or do I close the light at night and know that
absolution will never be gifted to the human race
until we take each others hands as one people
united in our common goal,
making decisions advocating compassion,
above Everything
How do we find our way
While they die
Am I getting wiser or just older?
My heart aches for the children
So I try to help one
But it’s not enough for me
We need leaders who will choose to save the children
We need countries caring about their suffering people
But it is easier to build weapons
Hold my hand while we cry
And the children die
By Barbara Tremblay Cipak