A poem

While I sleep, warm beneath the comforter,
A young woman in India is thrown into a hole
And pummeled for working a man's job.

While I sip coffee, thinking how to build my day,
A Syrian mother sleeps in rubble with her child,
Starving both for food and hope.

Does knowing this make me a better human being
Or turn my crosses into mere splinters?
I will still sit down for a full meal,
Including wine, coffee and dessert.