Poets for Peace
Blood On Their Hands
Blood was on their hands,
Smelling raw and sticky,
Stained the darkest red.
–
Voices whisper pleas,
Beat against deaf eardrums
But getting no attention.
–
Never feeling the last breathe
As it escaped so many,
Caught up in their tragedies.
–
Ignoring over time past,
When the perspective
On killing had changed.
–
Those thoughtless acts,
Resulting in a life lost,
Upsetting the natural order.
–
Indulged in war strategies,
And games, and crimes,
Camoflaged and justified.
–
Drones dropping bombs
Across borders into lives
Counted in the casualties.
–
Acts of violence on strangers,
Turns likewise to neighbours
Whose lives do not matter.
–
Sewing seeds abroad,
To inevitably reap at home
A disregard for existance.
–
And for most individuals,
They only feel the graveness
When death darkens their doorway.
–
They, having done nothing
Until tragedy hits their household,
Are…
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