Every time I start to believe

Life has meaning

beyond what you can touch

That karma exists

Maybe even god or spirit

Every time I think I see a pattern

Or destiny

Something besides the luck of the draw or

Roll of the dice

I remember all the children dead

Killed by neglect or disease or abuse or starvation

Murdered in gas chambers, got shot, froze begging on a street corner

I remember all the children

Who have not been permitted to live out their days

Since the world began.

No karma explains a child’s suffering

And a child’s death carries nothing but grief

Any philosophy otherwise

Is the self-indulgent musing of the privileged

Who are just lucky to be alive.