18 Sep


Is rich men profiting,

And poor men dying.

The bereaved father

Holding the lifeless body of his child;

Blood and brains crusting on his garments

Until he too suffers the same fate.

Mothers ushering children

Into bombed-out tenements

To huddle beneath tables,

And pray to be spared again.

Unwashed urchins

Carrying begging bowls

Pried from the grips

Of dead parents.

Tear streaks forming rivulets

On their grime-covered faces.

Swollen corpses

Half-buried in mire

Bursting beneath armoured tracks.

Nervous wives

Opening doors

To military couriers

Carrying envelops.

Broken spirits, broken bodies,

…broken homes

Hear the drums beat again,

Led by the greedy,

Fueled by the media,

Supported by the ignorant,

Nary a care

 …for the innocent.

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Posted by on September 18, 2012 in Poetry


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