Hundreds of Benches

I sit thinking upon this lonely bench
What about my brothers abroad?
What about my sisters in arms?
What about the children I don’t know
And the people we don’t understand?
We claim to be of the people by the people
And yet we misrepresent our people.
Truth, honesty, and integrity I thought
Was a way of loyalty and devotion
Patriotism falters from media tampering
Journalistic character became caricature
I know not all the facts
No one is telling anything but opinions
Webs upon webs spun from guns
Smoke clouds their lenses and I ask
Where were they when that was taken?
Why weren’t they helping the soldier there?
Why did they watch the child cry all alone?
How dare some say they support our troops
When the same breath preaches no remorse.
Does anyone remember anything of reason?
Where were they, you, or me?
Was anyone saying anything really?
All I see now is a hundred benches in a line
Each with only one or two people there.
Some praying, some cursing
Some standing and flaunting their fists
Others cheering and loving all of this.
And here I sit in the middle thinking
What about my brothers abroad?
What about my sisters in arms?
What about the children I don’t know
And the people we don’t understand?
Looking around here I realize
Even here at home, I don’t understand.
One day they’ll be home and perhaps
We’ll all sit upon the same bench.