Cheryl L. DaytecYañgot
Reflections On Fahrenheit 9/11 - Poem by Cheryl L. DaytecYañgot
I can smell the raw tangy scent
of will drying in my hand
I see the shape of dreams
Escaping the bowels of the fields
Like a thick swirl of smoke from a
Tire factory’s chimney
What is life but a flash of light
A bomb can easily put out
Until no one hears a town’s last cry?
No one listens to the orphans’ prayers
Having seen too much, too early
even infants know the meaning of mortality
For life is but a slave
To a conscience run amok
For the price of every dropp
of blood of the innocent
is a heavy pocket from firearms
and napalm bombs
“No war, no weapons business!
No mutilation, no murder!
No murder, no war! ”
Grand dreams weaved in the brains
Of small bodies
Barely out of the womb
Become evanescent shades of themselves.
Comments about Reflections On Fahrenheit 9/11 by Cheryl L. DaytecYañgot
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
William Ernest Henley
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night