The children..

(April is poetry month. Poem number six. I found a old journal from 1988. This poem was never published. Old words. This poem had the same meaning today as yesterday.

The children..

In the valley of the gun. The war machine is alive and well. Men who seek war over peace. Sick men.

My friend, the clock is moving and another child is crying, another child is hungry, another child is homeless. Another child killed by soldiers and bombs.

Weapons of death are killing and no-one is asking their names. Just people, just babies praying for one more day, praying for one more meal and praying for a safe place to be.

A woman caressed her stomach, wishing her baby not to be born. So much hatred, so much pain in our world with only men of war gaining wealth.

I asked the night, I asked the sea. How do we repair a world heading so quickly to hell? I am finding it difficult to close my eyes to the suffering.

Tonight I pray for the children, the people in the way of war. I saw war zones and I saw eyes of great sadness. I wish the men of war could taste hunger, know homelessness and know the fear that death is near them.

In the valley of the gun. A child prayed for one more day, a child pray for one more meal, a child prayed for a safe place to live.

Coyote

Author's Note

No-one win in war. The contractors need war.