do we fill the empty plate
with spent shells?
the empty cup with spilled blood?
do we sing of freedom
at the funerals of the children?
scratch 'equality' on their headstones?
do we sacrifice murder on the altar,
while praying to gods made of stone....
do we write infinity with an oily brush?
just what the hell have we become?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem