A poem is waiting
on the sunlit path
to brighten the day.
Words to strengthen
while the world turns
with horror and sorrow.
Blood and tears are everywhere.
Climbing from bombed out homes.
Twisted with fear for hostages taken.
All is in shambles.
People suffer, as bombs and planes
are manufactured and sold
at fever pitch.
There is money in death and destruction.
Someone gains from the deep losses
both sides endure.
Every bomb dropped
on the devastated city
creates a new terror
in the soul of a child
surviving the blast.
Fear, loss, sorrow
replaced by anger, mistrust, hate,
for those killing family, friends —
the innocent.
The current faction may be eliminated
but another will be born
in the womb of revenge and hopelessness.
That poem on the sunlit path
still waits.
