A poem
Politicians are invoking the old gods again
I can speak only in heartbreak
A child’s blood spilled on dry earth
Hellscapes summoned on holy ground
Retribution and eyes for eyes after eyes
I wonder how cycles of hatred cease, while power pours its fuel on flames, a deep complex of profit amidst pain
I weep while the world expounds its explanations
Opportunities for ‘I told you so’s’, ideology runs amok
Meanwhile, the innocent still die, trauma seen in the toddler’s eyes
I retreat, I’m not desensitised, it breaks me and as I try to sleep, the images sit behind my eyes,
A coward perhaps, I know not what should be done but my heart still beats and longs for peace
My pain is minute in comparison and yet I can feel the world weeping
Weeping for the destruction of promised futures
For brighter tomorrows, for the breaking of cycles
I see myself in those fathers carrying their children through the streets, I know those eyes and I fear for the tributaries that channel that pain
When do we invoke the gods of truth, beauty and love?
How many sacrifices will be made to land, power and hate?
Ares hovers over our cityscapes, engorged on our sacrifices
I know not what must be done
But I turn my face towards love and truth
And pray that the age of death has had its day
We must decide that which we worship, even in this secular age.
Love and truth I pray,
Love and truth I pray,
Love and truth I pray.