Vengeance Poems

Fighter

The monstrous massed minds

of forced conclusion

have taken action.

The fighter stands amidst

the steaming, stinking rubble

of destruction.

He looks around

with satisfaction.

Then looks again

and upon the breeze he hears

the wind’s voice crying.

His thoughts lie broken,

a realisation of the consequences

of the solution.

He recognises his voice upon the wind

the cries of motherless children

and childless mothers.

Desperately he tells himself it was worth it.

*    *    *

Old Men

They’re sitting in the shadows,

these old men

whose years have almost left them.

Their murmuring voices

are barely audible

mumbling empty words.

Their fingers are stained

with ink and blood.

For they have spent their lives

rewriting the holy books,

raising demons

in the name of paradise.

These demons have murderous intent

while the old men’s shrivelled hearts

glow briefly with

thoughts of naked power

Fuelling the war machine.

*    *    *

Child

She sits alone

in the still smoking remains

of her home.

Beneath her

somewhere in the ruins

lies her mother

with arms around her baby sister.

Dark haired, dark eyes,

Pale dust covers olive skin.

Last week she reached double figures.

Last week before someone opened the doors to hell.

Again.

There is a slight tremor

in her thin body

as she looks up

into the blue sun-strewn sky.

A silhouetted shape hovers

pausing as if to congratulate itself.

A proud example of

human progress.

Her eyes show no light

as she waits,

and she remembers

again

Last week was her tenth birthday.