My Heart Bleeds
Bombs bursting in rancid air,
the rockets’ red glare
hovering over decaying bodies.
Smoke spiraling above bombed-out houses,
streets littered with smashed cars
and slabs of concrete
and broken glass.
And bodies.
Children,
their tears washing the street dirt
from their faces,
kneeling in blood
beside bodies
of dead parents.
Killing to stop the killing,
where is the sense in that?
Babies dying from starvation,
where is the food?
Somewhere on a slow boat to nowhere,
getting lost among the red tape
and the words.
A pause to gather bodies,
to finger-point blame.
Talk is talk,
war is war,
and the innocent suffer
moment by moment,
waiting,
waiting for peace.
Peace,
a long-ago time,
when no bombs were exploding,
no children lying dead in the streets.
So, the days come and go,
each is a reflection of the one before,
and my heart bleeds.
