Scars Of War Poem by Edward Dzonze

Our swollen faces
have become dashboards of our miseries,
The wounds may heal
but the scars will remind us still
of the the tears we shed to the blood lost,
of the shallow holes we dug with our bruised fingers
and the rough terrains we lay our heads at night
Its the look on our faces
that continue to say it all;
The scars, the blood and the tears

What now
have become a new song to our barbarity?
Worse than imperialism and tribalism
will this fresh wound on our faces ever heal;
a people willed to terror
killing their mastered skill
human blood the pill to their social and economical ills
Fresh wounds on our scarred faces
We cry, we continue to die
Crying before we die we ask Why?
How high should we take this poetry
to awake the gods of peace to this marooning barbarity?

A fresh wound
on our scarred faces
More blood in the streets
than there is safe water to drink
The beloved face of humanity
is all tattooed with scars of hate
We cry, we continue to die
Our swollen faces
have become dashboards of our miseries
From our swollen faces
the soar songs we sing crying
says it all better;
The scars from healed wounds
may remain on our faces a piece of history,
a narration of our past
symbolizing the ills we conquered
and know better to avoid
Wise enough to avoid the same stupidity