I look back at Rwanda.
Ruin upon ruin forever lying so powerless,
That even Lucifer cried out in pain.
Piles of bones of remembrance.
Their machetes are forever cumbersome from the
Weight of their scars of sorrow.
And for the people, this land is frowned upon.
But the bloodshed still lingers, for many lives were lost.
For they were truly left alone to bask at deaths door,
Because many were too timid to penetrate that door.
But because of this imprudent mistake,
The Rwandans are now a victim to memory.
But these memories were too stained by the crimson tide,
That washed away the ability to forget,
The ability..... To forgive.
But above these graves of regret,
Grows flowers of hope for a recovered future.