AfterMathic Roars

Rubbish bin blood rats and flies
spreading bloated corpses
laborious heart-gurgling flesh

"Dead, dead, their dead, what can we do?"

Babies killed by cluster bombs
transformed into tiny visions of hell
coated with stale sera and gangrene

"Dead, dead, their dead, what can we do?"

Soiled sheets screaming amid pain
scenes of anarchy, waste, terror
and unexploded pestilence

"Dead, dead, their dead, what can we do?"

Unclaimed corpses burying themselves
charred and bloodied give up hope
of ever knowing who they were

Eyes that can not speak
tongues that can not see
abandoned in a yard

"Dead, dead, their dead, what can we do?"

© 2003 - Hammond Guthrie