Married to the world
Anger echoes circular
Without end
Like a ring.
Steeped in disgust
The skin of a mass
without bombs
explodes.
Earth arches her back
She turns up the heat
Spits up the ocean
She stands to her feet.
A battle, a battlefield
The worst form of crime
Mass murder, revenge
or simply pastime.
The horror fuels madness
The dead never cry
We'll always remember
The days that they die.
- Wednesday 13th July 2005
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem