The souls of all those aching fools
are mulched with the broken bonds of glory
and cacophony of undeliverable
goods: swept up wings
of beautiful angels or sultry virgins waiting
in paradise for suicides blown to kingdom come –
the only kingdom deep in the depths of righteousness
under ashen beads of sweat.
They cry beneath their toil when all have left
them forgotten in dank, gritted dirt,
Graves roll over like fond heather
when purple prayers are laid to rest
along with all signs of peace.
Time and again they pour themselves
into the ground hoping rotten weeds
will allow them breathing room
‘til their passage, but slithering tongues
try to lick them clean while both crawl
on bellies over and through
withered twig fingers still wedded
to propaganda’s grenades and its rusted
rings. Lifeless, hollow, frigid eyes
desperately seek out the light
among a scurry of morbid shadows.
Cold pitiful screams muffled by cold clay
means in the end, there is no glory
or kingdom, vineyards and exquisite drinks
dripped by virgins in a life ever after – all bets
A little bit of hope was kept alive in Aleppo where a man tended a garden to give people hope of a future with his plants. I read an article about him and his son who worked with him. People would buy plants to plant on roundabouts etc to inspire rebuilding and regeneration. A short time later he was killed near the gardens and his son is alone now.
I have quoted his father’s words and embellished a little. I urge once more, if ever you can help in these ongoing situations, please do. The world is our family and we need to help each other more.
I don’t need to go far these days without meeting tragedy head on. Today we suffered a blow here in the UK, but will carry on as the rest of the world is doing. Sometimes, we have only to look to someone’s generosity and spirit, despite their tragic existence, to realise we are still very, very lucky.
A Silent Flower
the heart and soul
keep peace within all life –
the essence of the world lies in
Thank you: Paul Militaru
kin of clay cold skin
crumbs of carnage float atop
ruby red waters
eyes sunk in morbid shadow
scurries from scorching nightmares
14 Million Children Suffering as Result of War in Syria and Iraq, and surrounding areas Unicef Says.
morbid songs choke
butterflies asleep in dust of cocoons.
fist to sky
streaks of skin
blemished by nightmares, deep scars of anger.
Tetractys, a poetry form invented by Ray Stebbing, consists of at least 5 lines of 1, 2, 3, 4, 10 syllables (total of 20).