Cast in stone and written in blood
Are the ideals of a lost nation?
Paving the returned ashes of the ancients
Their patience wore thin by the actions of the passionless
Armed in tools for a journey with no set direction
But their steps forward
Matter to no particular purpose but a means to no end
Instead to destruction
Is their surrounds with earth shattering sound to deaf ears
In the hope
That the blind see and fear the renowned vision of tears
And overcome by what comes over
With a super nova of banished spirits carving out time
In hope to expos
The sickened seconds and momentary minutes into hours
Those who have powers
Will note the swinging vote they wield
Those who are in this field
Have only the word as a shield
Blood spilled and dead, limp, bodies
Will be served on the far vision
Will be the cutlery of the day's dishing
From the table view only red is seen
Because all that within is left on the scene
Those who were framed in this picture
Can only refer to the Revelations of scripture
Those who were in erratic panic
Had to mirrored the ignorance that of "Titanic"
How can men put their belief in false security?
As survivors of today were fooled by the hope of tomorrow
Let’s not borrow the bravado of a lost society
Because Christianity is the true model we should follow.
Thunder storms raged forth in grandeur and the rain fell splashing in torrents,
The brook water levels rose and burst their banks flooding walk ways and paths,
Drains around buildings became blocked with shifting gravel, paper and leaves,
Through the villages and county towns people with umbrella's lined the streets.
Men with bags and old coats on their shoulders to open their flooding drains,
They used fire-shovels, spades, rakes, rods almost anything that came to hand,
Where one minute all is silent profound, hot the sky, dark tinged with yellow,
Then, a few minutes the roar of streams bursts forth flooding a hundred homes
Hurrying down the declivities, glens are loud with turbid brooks and streams,
Water rushes rushes along the roads at the feet of hilly green corn pastures,
Seconds ago we walked on the dry ground then after the roar it was knee deep,
A crash of thunder on the hill tops pealing and reverberating again and again.
Rushing waters down steps in great lines of white foam over brown muddy water,
The wild sough and murmur through the whole darkened, yellow tinged, warm air,
As quick as it came, it went and the sky turned to clear watery turquoise blue,
On the telephone wire sat a Corn Bunting singing a jingling song without a tune.
I am surrounded by death’s
its unrelenting determination.
I cling to the nothingness
feel the emptiness of
the gnawing bite of hunger
My children died first,
made too weak to linger -
in death’s grip -
held the lifeless bodies
and slowly followed.
Looking into her
hollow, empty eyes
I knew that death
long before her
to the hate.
to the hungry,
to the children.
to forgotten gods
for an end,
one more time,
see the gray haze
of one more day,
into blackened memories.
yet this war
I will rest now,
allow the darkness
what little is left
of my life,
of my family,
John G. Lawless
for the Genocide: Speak for the Lost contest
Holodomor, the Ukrainian genocide.
I can show you where the brimstone sun has no remorse,
and where devils on horseback, have burned our homes, have pillaged our farms.
A killing spree, the drum of guns, some tried to flee, but died,... each one.
The screams, I dream, the cries........the cries....... I try to mute the sound of them
For..., I was there, I hid in fear, was somehow spared, but now I look for
something, ...something, ...something, here, ...someone to care.
A bit of food, a bit of shade, such bitter fate, a world of hate. I have no shoes, I
have no food.... but there is nothing, nothing, no one here. Nothing is clear, my
eyes are blurred, and the weight, this world, shouts out despair.
Where are the flowers that used to bloom, where are voices, that once I knew?
There are no flowers here...just flies, in shoulder-deep dust, and a hot orange sun,
that coughs up sounds of fear and guns, and swords and words against my ears, I
live in fear with no one here.
I'm just a girl, or at least I was.... for just a while.
I was defiled, when found by one
who spared my life, but did not see, I'd rather die than be this girl, who feels the
shame in being free.
I once had a mother, I once had a father, I once had a brother who made me smile
Where did spirits, lift and go, when the devils on horseback came to kill? Spilling the
For thrill? For what? Where were the Gods? Where are the ones who turn their
A desert of dust with blood red crust. They poisoned our wells, burned out our land,
ravished and raped, and relished their brand......, nomads came, leaving the shame,
evil and horror came like rain.
Janjaweed, the name, I cannot say... I live with shame, a world, insane
I try to sleep, but I cannot........I can't forget and I am lost, the cost too much,
a swollen tongue and calloused feet, across a land of bleached white bones
Alone, alone,....lost and done...a vanished heart......no one sees me
There are no flowers, there are no trees,
Famine as my lone companion, a pool of mud a home to stay,
Life drains out more every day, my belly swells....my eyes are parched,
and I can't tell
if I'm alive, or if I'm dead, dried up tears are what I shed....
Where are the flowers for my head? I've been scorned,
all I have, and all I see is wind and rain, sorrow and pain
thorns, and dust, and a grave, that waits for me
Inspired By Cyndi's Challenge on Genocide 8/28/2014
Devils on Horseback – The Darfur genocide (ongoing) The Janjaweed (translated,
devils on horseback) slaughter and rape the women, men and children of Darfur. As
of today, 480,000 people have been “exterminated” and 2.8 million displaced.
Let's not turn our heads away from this, or from other atrocities being committed
throughout the world.