by Anne Bryant-Hamon
Blood darkens the stones of the city.
For ashes and dust there’s no lack.
The world seems a place without pity
as children lie dead in Iraq.
Obama has ordered more sorties
to carpet bomb Afghanistan
young men from their teens to their forties
must wipe out the damned Taliban.
You’ll know when this World War is over
when grass roots weave into your head
and red clay and iron ore and clover
form a crazy quilt for your cold bed.
Anne Bryant-Hamon has had poetry published in both print and on-line poetry journals including Bumbershoot, Lucid Rhythms, Romantic Hearts Magazine, The Chimaera, The Green Tricycle, 2 River View.
__________________________________________________