The Bomb Poem by James Pritchard

The bomb, made in a factory,
supervised by some politician with a degree.
A weapon of death and massdestruction,
supposed to make life better for the children.

The little ones, that run and jump in spring,
will have their lifes so quickly ending.
Kids that never have driven a car,
kids that never have been away far.
Maybe one of them would have cured AIDS,
or be the messaiah of our days.
But for them it is to late,
their parents have closed their gates.
No chance for freedom,
only working for a king in his kingdom.

Instead of saving these little people,
most people jsut say: 'turn to the bible'.
What if there is no greater being, god, up above?
What if thats what most people are just thinking of?

People all over are dieing,
it makes me want to start crying.
Who can do something against the death raining from the sky so blue?
There is only one person and that person is you.

So speak your words,
make them loud.
Let's push these people forwards,
Let's speak before crowds.