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Our World and My Life
| Open Poetry #29 |
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Our World and My Life |
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rambling_words Junior Member
since 2003-10-29
Posts 44London, Ontario, Canada |
It is raining on the streets of London Monday tears for yesterdays bombs American soldiers dead in Baghdad City red, white and blue stars falling over Washington heroes rising out of the dust angels descending out of the sky winter feathers to heal summer wounds galaxies of other planets spin in their disbelief our world, our war, our way circumstances can never be forgotten but circumstances can never be forgiven in a just society revenge is the enemy of the free it tears us apart from sea to sea and from town to town races of different faces praying to different Gods for the same cause war leads the news into our homes guns lead the bullets into our schools the dead lay in crimson puddles of other pains the head lay in muddy graves of other rains unmarked and unknown names on monuments and games on computers strategic targets and smart bombs what is so smart about dead children what if they were ours what if they are ours only time will plot the course of our destination It is raining on the streets of your town never again tears for once again promises dead sons and widowed daughters orphaned children and shattered innocence black, blue and purple bruises spreading over skin villians bleeding our hearts devils stealing our souls I will not be divided by religion or politics my life is worth no more than the life of another person. |
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| © Copyright 2003 John Raeside - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Earth Angel Member Empyrean
since 2002-08-27
Posts 40215Realms of Light |
Wow! That packs a punch! What a powerful piece of poetry! ~ and so rich in imagery ~ and message! Warm hugs, Earth Angel |
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
from sea to sea and from town to town races of different faces praying to different Gods for the same cause war leads the news into our homes guns lead the bullets into our schools the dead lay in crimson puddles of other pains the head lay in muddy graves of other rains unmarked and unknown ~*~ I am often told to write of what is "out there"... but when others do it, better than I, all I can do, is try to find some silver thread to line that which is already wrought. Well done, Sir. |
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