Burning ceased before sunset,
ash motes akin to snowfall disrupted tranquility,
raising serpentine to greet the rage of dying sunshine,
dulling a pink blush of a farewelling sun in solemn grey.

Child like you howled,
clinging to remnants of battle like a babe to a newly washed blanket,
mewling as vitriol dripped idly
staining ashen ground with lie upon lie.

No blood was shed this day,
although crimson shadows remained creeping black along
the barren remnant of what was once,
moments ago
a land of promise and hope.

In desperation,
cast aside the innocents
as puppets on your string,
to dance for your gain.

All that remains,
is a fistful of ash,
Which slides effortlessly
through your fingers
as you look west
considering what tomorrow may bring.


20 responses to “Desperation

  1. When the beast stops attacking, how many innocents will still be devoured by ravenous dogs of war, of imperialism? This poem, on its third read could be an anthem, a ballad; loved it; liked the lines
    /mewling as vitriol dripped idly/staining ashen ground with lie upon
    lie/–the strongest poem I have encountered on the dVerse trail.

  2. This really brings true the utter helplessness of the children of war.. to me..only knowing a time of death and only knowing a hope for life…

    Amazing why a first world country can worry..when folks truly live like this so much in really worry…a life of death opposed to illusory fear of nothing true..for really worry….

  3. stunning…the opening stanza is such a lovely visual; it drew me in…a very intense piece…you have me wondering as well, what tomorrow will bring.

Put me out of my misery people!

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