I have had a few days off - got lost in the long weekend. The first poem I am posting I wrote after seeing the Twin Towers fall.
To Stain the Soil
How are we meant to comprehend the tragic loss of life?
when we are told of hundreds murdered, by a martyrs sacrifice?
How do we still the hatred, fuelled by this constant grief?
Does every country have a hero, does every country have a theif?
How do we stem the flow of blood that's staining all soil red?
If, in life, we fight the difference, do we rest peaceful once we're dead?
Bella Magic
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I remember watching the towers fall on the tv in disbelief and shock. This poem captures how millions felt around the world that day.
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