Postscript: A Report Into The Aftermath(Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya, Syria) Poem by DM W

The cities break up.
The earth is dust.
The animals
Are in mourning.

The few drops of rain,
That rarely fall,
Have become tears
On heaven's cheeks.

The tribes are displaced
From their sacred places.

The killing has changed
The country's shape.
The rocks are bones.
The mud is thick with blood.
The smoke is the people
Slowly breathing...

The wilderness is vast,
But not as vast,
As the spaces that now exist
Between the populations.

Although they remain hidden,
Invisible to the eye,
The deserts of the heart are widespread.
It will take a long time,
And new form of warm communion,
To connect the spirit's fragments.