spirits wail in the napalm night,
bodies without faces walk deserted streets.
dreams whisper from cardboard boxes,
ants walk with angel's feet.
the sound of mouth's stricken,
deeper than just need.
the soul of fire shudders,
while glass eyed leeches feed.
history written with grave cost,
we are what we have done.
while outside the door anger lurks,
and the bullet seeks the gun!
gods? i think not....
even demons fear to tread.
the hand takes from its own heart,
and leaves the hunger for dead.
bells ring with hollow haunt,
fear drives the nails in the cross.
even tears of blood cannot repair,
what love defiled leaves as loss!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Love the line, we are what we have done, so true, a fantastic poem.