IraqA Poem by Lewis Davis-Norman
The place that god forgot A canvas of lifeless grey Tainted by sanguine smears And ripped with bloody claws Fell victim to hellish rain. A schoolboy in the yard In an independent fantasy Gazes at the winners club In drunk and dreamy awe Taking their design for his own The strong react with might Crush with granite fists and kick With studded boots that bruise And cut, grinding to powder His screams dissolve to whispers. When asked ‘Why did you do it?’ A ring of grins, a score of answers ‘Do we need a f*****g reason?’ ‘The b*****d had a knife’ ‘It was… our simple duty.’ But they move forward briskly Amongst shattered skulls are Shattered dreams, decrepit. The weak. The poor. The victims: They are resentfully the same. The place that god forgot Slashed by stars and stripes Cries limply in the wind, lost Jilted by the west, she yearns And in the clutch of Satan, burns. © 2013 Lewis Davis-NormanAuthor's Note
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