Clicking Hand.

Refugees. You see. They have no place to go. No place to flow. Lie low. Don't pop up your heads. Don't look for bread. Bodies are lying in your streets. Their meat is cooking in the heat, you see.

Look out for your own. Hold tight to them. Fight for them. To each their own when the war comes. When the war came. When the waters rained and ran. Then the winds slammed their structures to the land.

And look at me. In my cubicle land, with my clicking hand. Trying to be a loving man. Raising my family the best I can. And I hear of this war torn land. Damn. And I have to tune it out. Try to focus on my fam.

I want to help. I want to get up. Stand. And motivate. And march. Grab my rifle. Find the enemy at hand. Fight the injustice, war, hunger of our land.I want to pull militia rights and fight but don't know what direction to smite.

So I sit here again. In my cubicle land. Clicking with my clicking hand. Wanting peace on this land. Wanting to take a stand. But no knowing where or what direction to man. As I focus and click, and click again.