Words of anger, words of revenge, fly like dust through the air,
Words left twisting in hereditary memory,
Ruptured by hate, splintered by division,
We can’t understand what we cannot see.
Death and destruction borne out in their tears.
Bloody walls. Spattered and spurts.
Easeful death is a luxury, Blasted to bits.
Women in black, wailing, searching with grief,
Swooning to coffins of sorrowful sacrifice,
As they look for solutions in their early mourning minds.
Remember he died for us.
High pressure remains.
No rain to wash their tears away, to breathe life into the olive trees
That mask those who flee from the vacuum of violence.
Peace, a foreign language, we cannot understand.
Wasted shells to batter emaciated buildings,
Where children play; caught red handed.
I watch they suffer; men sit in ruins, blaming each other.
Nobody wins; we all fall down