Speeding tanks
Fields of bones
Flag-draped caskets
Crying babies
Flying missiles
Fleeing solders
Hopeless lives
Armless child
empty faces


Looting Men
Starving children
Fields of blood
Shrill of Hawks
blackened rubble
Maimed bodies
Suicide bomber

Your son...
Your daughter.

In different tongues,
the cries of men
echoes throughout our land;
as we lift our voice and question...

Is this the peace plan?

My tears
fall to be
a puddle
a lake
a river
an ocean

Oh, when will it cease?


copyright (c) cg 10/04

 
Copyright © charmaine, All Rights Reserved