Blood On Your Hands Poem by Sinclair Azubuike Farrell

Blood On Your Hands



You are condemned men

With blood of past and present generations

Covering the palm of your hands



The blood of those you cruelly and violently

Forced to suffer

Before they died

They were helpless and completely innocent

You just stood by

While they weak and vulnerable suffered



In their suffering you took nothing but pleasure

Now you've got their blood on your hands

And no amount of soap and water

Will ever be able to wash it away.

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