hundreds of missing children
narrow slashes of daylight
creep along wood floor
filtering in through tall and narrow
opaque windows on either
side of closed front door
outside it’s 99 degrees fahrenheit
all the shades are drawn
gray tiger sprawled out
on same wood floor
conflicted by uncontrollable
desires to chasing butterflies
fan blades rotate circularly
redistributing manufactured air
breathed in by robo-occupants
out of touch with outside world
where hundreds of children go missing
may two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 
I thought a lot of those children lost when taken into care… you can just speculate into what terrible void.
yes, without question. this poem was actually inspired from a tweet I came across and the end result was my interpretation of it.