In Loving Memory of the Children of Gaza
"As humanity is cindered in our crucible of pathos."
When the wrath of nature issues forth, Spilling its guts on cold, barren landscapes, The gods speak loudly, For there is too much amiss. When the rivers are red, The blood cold, congealed, Speaking of the disheartened dead, The sky smoked over with ominous dread. The air is acrid with the smell of death— The bombing of children in canvas tents, The hellfire of demented souls saying to them: "You are no more, no more." The grey ashes of murdered souls Float downward—yes, downward— Into the deep gouges of bomb craters, Soon to be paved over. When the rivers run red and the skies ashen grey, The heavens revolt. Too many children in shallow graves, As humanity is cindered in our crucible of pathos.
History’s parrot is read in 38 US states and 58 countries worldwide.
Damn israel...and damn all those who, through deafening silence, are aiding and abetting israel in their massacre of Palestinians.
Great poetry, thank you! This is the cost of Progress everywhere, as the Indigenous are crushed under the edge of the advancing Crystal Palace.