Darfur Poem by Jacquelyn Turnage

Darfur



March on, continue on dark one
With your little poor black feet
Pounding the dusty Earth in the black veil of night.

Your blood perhaps less red than the others
Your being recruited
HA! Enslaved truth be told
Easier on the hearts of the unconscious populous
Their empty souls and heavy wallets
Your heavy gait and empty stare
Born into the ugliest ugly.

Fragile frames and awkward limbs
Poorly constructed for this handy-work
Crafted to take what is not theirs
Feeding on primal instinct alone
And lapping up the souls of the innocent.

Savagely consuming life
Committing unspeakable acts against their own humanity
Such little brains cannot possibly weigh accordingly
But following through in spite of
Marching on relentlessly
Surrendering the tilled lands of your fathers
While your mothers and sisters hang their heads
And protect what little they have left that is sacred.
They pray that the bleeding will stop
And then come again.

It makes no difference
Not blade nor bullet
Not young nor old
You march on regardless
Obediently rebelling against the machine
And crying out loud to them,
“Oh Lord, why hath They forsaken us? ”
All while the big man in his fat suit
Turns the channel on the television
As to not upset his appetite.

Truly, the youth shall inherit this Earth.

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Jacquelyn Turnage

Jacquelyn Turnage

Anywhere, USA
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