Hordes to the barbed wire. The hollow and the weak. Cowered from the sickle, In the cornfield of the meek. They railed against the harvest Yet, the flourish of the scythe. Silenced all dissention, In the chapel of the blithe. And when the crop was gathered, Spirit leached from every spit. They sat beneath the bloodwood tree And talked no more of it. For utterance brought memory And memory begat shame. A shame of human harvest, But not a jot humane.
Reason for writing:
It is still hard to believe that in this modern world, unspeakable crimes against humanity still prevail.
Genocide, Ethnic cleansing, call it what you will. Not even children are safe from slaughter.
(This is the only poem of mine that I can recite word for word).
Birth sign: Gemini
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