Clayton's Massacre
Can you spare just one thought?
Without finding blame,
For whom were slaughtered,
Or left hobbling in pain.
For their freedom they fight,
From behind cast iron gates,
Each day into the night,
Passion derives their own fate.
For they began the day,
Waking with their fears,
Rubbing shoulders to pray,
Before spilling tears.
Their brethren falling,
Crumbling into dust,
Lead bullets soaring,
Into souls’ they thrust.
We watch as their shadows,
Slowly fill with spilt blood,
From the comfort of home,
When will enough be enough?
This torturous massacre,
Continues day after day,
In the land where heat seekers,
Are guided toward their prey.
(c) 2016 PJ Bayliss
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