This Poem is For the Love

This is a picture of a red heart.

This poem is for the children

whose schools have closed, 


the children 

who rely on whatever 

their pocket change can buy them 

in the cafeteria 

to get them through the day. 


This poem is for the people 

who lived through a lifetime of war

and are as afraid of going outside 

on this still spring night 

as they were back then.


This poem is for every family 

from my city to your city, 

to every city 

neither of us have ever been to

or heard of. 


This poem is for the mother 

who lost her job

and has to feed 3 kids. 


This poem is for the boy 

who searches for smiley faces 

in the rain drops 

sticking to his windows


even when the monsters in his head 

are trying to find 

their way to his eyes


and he’s alone 

and the world feels fast asleep. 


This poem is for 

the homeless, 

the scared, 

the lonely. 


This poem is for 

the dead, 

the dying, 

the hungry.


This poem is for you. 

This poem is for me. 


If you press your hand 

to your heart 

I’ll press my hand

to mine. 


We can both feel 

the rhythm of being alive, 

and that’s all the reason I need 

to stay inside. 

If you press your hand to your heart I'll press my hand to mine. We can both feel the rhythm of being alive, and that's all the reason I need to stay inside.
United States of America