And there we wept: poem for Gaza's children
By Vincent Walsh at Jan 04, 2009 |
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Hush, little one
Make no sound
Though the bombs are falling
Your agonized screams drown
In the eerie death whistles
Of missiles as they strike
Down from the heavens
Man, in his sauvé sophistication
Has expropriated the wrath of god
Made it his own
Usurped the power to render judgment
And dispense punishment
Even unto matters of birth and murder
Funny how you figure
Your children are precious
Sacrosanct
Yet little ones of those
You call "Other" do not matter
They are sub-human, non-beings
Of no consequence for profitability
And therefore irrelevant
Bereft of the right to prosper
Any decent chance to live.
Go back, my child
This is not a good time
For you to arrive.
Go back and tell them
It's better to wait
Please stop your screaming
For it'll do no good
I know the pain is maddening
Especially since you can't understand
You've no way to comprehend
What is happening to you
Much less why.
We hold ourselves responsible
Because we drew you forth.
It seemed like a natural impulse
At the time
But now the horizon is on fire
I guess the power tripping
And the money stashing
Have finally driven them all mad
Completely berserk
Out of control at last
I wonder if we'll survive
The final blast
And find myself concluding
It'd be better if we didn't.
We are sorry, child
For bringing you into a world
Riddled with so much pain
A nightmare for the living
Created by the insane
Your shrieks are in vain
All your anger stirs
Not a single complaint
From the all-powerful
The neo-whatever priesthood
Who laugh in the face of love.



Suffer the Innocent
By Jones, Steven at Jun 02, 2010 18:20 PM
It makes me sad and angry to read this poem. Sad because I feel like there is so little I can do; its as if our voices are drowned out by the din of devices and commercial distractions. Angry because I wish we humans, the species proportedly equipped with the greatest intellegence of all creatures, appear to have such small hearts. I feel the same pain you do.
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