In a world unraveling—from genocide in Gaza to war in Ukraine and Congo, from rising fascism to ecological collapse—many choose silence, hoping distance will spare them. But silence is not neutral. It is not protection. This poem is a reflection on complicity, comfort, and the cost of staying quiet while the world burns.

How That Worked Out—a poem for the age of excuses

The children of Gaza do not dream of war,but they wake beneath it,wrapped in dust and grief and headlineswritten by cowards.

In Congo, the river carriesthe weight of our luxury—blood-colored cobalt,futures mined by hands too smallfor the machines they power.

And still, the world scrolls,safe in its distance,safe in its silence.

The forest doesn’t argue with the axe.The ocean doesn’t plead with the net.They remain silent, wanting only to live—and they die anyway.Those who say silence protects youshould ask the land how that worked out.
Photo by Anderson Santos: https://www.pexels.com/photo/woman-do...

Ukraine cracks open beneath missiles and meaning.Another empire dreams in tanks.And fascism comes dressed for church,whispers through school boards and cable news,sings lullabies about freedomwhile drawing borders in the dark.

The heat climbs and we call it weather.The storms scream and we call it rare.Icebergs sob into rising seas,but we turn up the A/Cand ask for straws.

It’s safer not to look.Safer not to speak.Safer to convince ourselvesthat silence is kindness,that comfort is neutral,that we are not involved.

But we are.We are the net.We are the axe.We are the hand that looks awayand the hand that still signs checks.

Say it louder:The forest doesn’t argue with the axe.The ocean doesn’t plead with the net.They remain silent, wanting only to live—and they die anyway.

So what will you saywhen the silence comes for you?What comfort will you findwhen the sky forgetshow to forgive?