2017 05 26
While strutting city street on Friday night
to hang out with my buddies at the bar
where we will drink beer and talk about sports
I turn the wrong way down dark misty road.
I stumble into plaza lit by moonlight
that gleams on faces of ten thousand children
killed by bombs and bullets in brutal wars
over the past twenty years of world war.
Cold shiver of horror jolts through my spine
and sears my brain with flame of wrenching fear
at sight of their black eyes staring at me,
piercing my soul with anguish of despair.
Gazing entranced in abyss of their eyes,
I feel searing pain they suffered in death
from every single child killed in our wars
ripping through my soul on wings of desire.
Surrounded by thousands of silent faces,
I stand in the plaza of blood-stained brick,
immobilized by horror of their pain
that swirls around me on spirals of screams.
Created by their mothers in sweet love
from the holy spirit seed of their fathers,
they played laughing among fruit trees at noon,
but now their bodies crumble back to dust.
Then thundering voice of accusation shrieks
wordless rage of shock that strikes at my brain,
and every child killed by bullets and bombs
points blood-dripping finger at my pale face.
Opening my arms wide to embrace death,
I weep waterfalls of tears from cracked heart
that floods city streets to whitewash our crimes
till they all transform into trees with fruit.
Plucking apples from trees that sprout from graves
of their bomb-blasted bodies, I prepare
sparkling cider that glitters in the cup
where I see their eyes staring up at me.
I carve the names of every single child
killed in fierce battles for global control
on granite mountain by eye-shimmering lake,
but rain washes the mountain down to sand.