Za Deti (за дети)
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The statement…
“Father forgive them,
for they know not what they do!”
Truly only applied once.
So I got to ask,
just who…
do we think we are?
Knowledge… is a bitch
and she doesn’t care,
no matter how much you try to skew
her vision from the truth.
For life was never meant to be,
About dodging missiles on the street;
killing children and old ladies,
for some land,
or a fine Mercedes!
All glory is yours almighty father,
because the trappings of ego…
must surely be,
the stuff of divinities craving;
Just who the hell…
do we think you are?
And I scratch my zipper scar,
from two heart attacks ago,
and try to wake my poet’s soul.
Knowing life wasn’t meant to be,
about dodging bullets through the trees;
like a starving child that sees a peach
that pays a price,
for a desperate reach!
And the Russians scratch,
messages on their missiles
“za deti” (For the Children!)
And my chest aches…
deeper than a heart attack.
And I know,
that Russian’s brush stroke…
came from a place,
that believed their foes,
crucified Russian children…
on those streets;
But didn’t they realize,
with just a bit of paint
they became…
what they,
disdained?
And the apostles,
got their missile strike;
But it’s their hands,
that they have stained.
© 2022 Robert Trakofler
A poem, A picture, or a spoken word is nothing without a witness and for yours, I am always grateful!
