All day long they sit on rotted rocks
Playing melodies for their captors;
Ears wide open but nothing heard
In this wilderness of gloom.
Slipping beneath the clouds of redemption,
These wretched souls remember
When blooded tributaries flow;
Even as seagulls danced on wet moons,
Counting years of tear-drops.
Carried on winds of progress,
They rise on serpentine laughter,
Even if concealed by greed and lusts.
Bellies lined with corruption
Become territories of bewilderment;
Babies' cries go unnoticed,
As coffers are filled with loots and spoils;
To murder comes easy,
Easier than fitting diapers.
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Comments about this poem (Just Thinking by Buxton Shippy )
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