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So discreet the deceit is complete. In the street no one knows how it goes till it shows, way too late, no debate. Sealed our fate with a pen and men. They would come for some in the slum, Playing dumb, we defend not a friend. In the end no one’s here, shed a tear to fear, when it’s you in view. Train ride to genocide, go inside, bodies fried, tombs to share the stinking air, bones are bare, burnt skin sags in body bags, soldier gags, guts spill, vultures fill. A case the human race can’t face, in a place close to war, the whore. The infected sore on our back we attack till we crack, giving in to the sin.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2008

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Date: 2/9/2010 5:52:00 PM
Dear Curt, you have brought back to the surface a terrible nightmare of history in a very realistic, almost brutal way, but you tell the truth. We thought this kind of things would never happen again, but genocide is still being practiced in today's world, an absolute abomination. I think we have no choice now but to face reality with the struggles we experience nowadays. We must reevaluate our value system. Thanks for sharing and thank you for your kind comments on my poem. Caroline.
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Date: 2/8/2010 3:44:00 PM
No, i do not know what a quatrain is and did not label or mean to label it as so. I am just an expressionist. It annoyed me that you tried to take the friendliness of others comments with a criticism of a technical error. Are you that critical needing to take others joys away? It does feel good doesnt it, to tear people down, I do it, too. BTW this poem is based on lies, and thus is useless, read mine "Titled the story never told" It will make you happy, If you are capable of reading deeper.
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Date: 8/24/2008 5:00:00 PM
nice metaphorically speaking, heart-breaking wirte, I can feel the raw pain in this write, take care D-nyce
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