Zephyr

The West Wind, a concertina, laying on the east,
What the western world fails to resolve.

Like a blanket of sorrow, anguish and misery.

The breath of the beast brings our existence crashing,
A serenity with which we are seemingly well acquainted,
Pierced by daggers which sitting around a table and talking will never
remove.
The erratic screams of impoverished children,
The bloody war cries of dying men,
And the weeping of women,
Raped and tortured,

Zephyr, why?