It is hard not to be angry at the Maker of the Universe.
We have been ripped from our home
like a Band-Aid from a wound,
so fast, but we are still stinging.
We are herded together into an area,
wooden fencing entwined with barbed wire.
We are marbles on a board.
We roll in whatever direction the wolves tilt us.
We are too many to a room and all of us strangers.
Fear draws us together.
We huddle,
hold on to each other, close our eyes, and pray for sleep,
because there is food,
but only in our dreams.
There is home,
but only in our dreams.
There is school and friends and freedom,
but only in our dreams.
We are caged.
We cannot leave.
We are trapped,
while the animals roam freely.