Cold in the Night

Leaders high on power
Threaten war to pass the time.
They call us the criminals,
But they’re the ones who did the crime.
Laughing with their billions,
Gilding halls of their delight,
While the rest of us alone and hungry,
Cower, cold, in the night.
They fuel a rabid nationalism
And goad young men to hate.
They promise glory for our land,
But cloak our murky fate.
Compassion, won’t you touch men’s hearts?
Clarity, open their eyes.
Before all falls to chaotic hell,
Before the last hope dies.

Chani Zwibel is a graduate of Agnes Scott College, a poet, wife and dog-mom who was born and raised in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, but now dwells in Marietta, Georgia. She enjoys writing poetry after nature walks and daydreaming. Read other articles by Chani.