Priorities

Ammie carries the water to the village.
It's as clear as it is still.
An eight mile trip under a scorching sun,
Walking a landscape primed to kill.
Her down-turned mouth, her sallow eyes,
They tell of horrors seen:
Enduring war, crippling poverty,
These things have always been.
Twelve tender years of pain and death,
A life of tribal hell.
Forced by war to be an adult,
The open plain: her cell.

Miguel unfolds the oily scrap of flag.
The rifle must be clean.
Checks the safety, checks the clip,
Rubs it down with eyes, serene.
He knows no life but soldiering,
He's scarred by sniper fire.
Orphaned in life, taught in hatred,
Dressed in jungle pattern attire.
Fourteen years schooled in civil unrest,
Used like a simple pawn.
The government troops are closing in.
This is the boy's last dawn.

Carla opens her lash-less eyes and blinks,
Breathing laboured and low.
Another procedure reduces her strength,
A soul-sapping undertow.
But she raises a smile as she sees her folks,
Leukaemia shalln't prevail,
Determination and prayer shall battle on,
With no step does she fail.
And as she slips into a darker place,
One step from Death's cruel way,
She dreams the time a donor's found.
She's lived this every day.

This room is bright, with poster-filled walls,
A computer gently hums.
An MP3 player is snatched up,
As someone, this way, comes.
Another row with Mom and Dad
They really do not care.
He flicks his hair back from his face,
Into a mirror his dark eyes stare.
He takes the knife he calls a friend,
And well it might have been,
But this time the cut will go too deep,
He's dead at sweet sixteen.

You've read this far, you've seen the cases,
And this part may seem odd.
But bear in mind these youngsters lives,
Next time you pray to your God.
The little things we always take for granted
Are as a grain of sand.
We have so much that they do not.
Even water, on demand.
Now go and ponder which one could
Have controlled their destiny.
"For everything there is a season", Ecclesiastes.
Opportunity knocks infrequently.