You Want What?

I want to die, said my son in my dream.

I went:

No.

What?

You want what?

Grabbing his hand

we flew up to the sky,

sat on the clouds

and started to chat.

About life before him,

and how better it was with him here.

We looked at the land,

the green, the brown.

We looked at the sea,

blue like the mood he was in.

We cried and we laughed,

we laughed and we cried,

he no longer wanted to die.

We flew back.

Kissed good-night.

Closed my eyes.

I see journalists killed,

doctors killed,

innocent babies tortured and killed.

Running for food gets you killed.

Calling an ambulance too.

Hundreds of bullets did do.

The people protest,

they march,

they sail,

some even choose: burning themselves.

The world goes around,

no matter what nutter’s in charge.

I want to die, said my son in my dream.

Now fully awake I just go:

Yes.

I know.

So do I.