Rwanda's Pain
The Belgian masters of old
gave in to the Devil's wish.
Offering Tutsi blood to
fill the Hutu tribal dish.
Innocence hacked asunder,
within the shadow of fear.
The streets, soaked in crimson blood,
yet the world shed not a tear.
The presence of God's church was
absent from the bloody scene.
Outside of reality:
cloistered lives, remained serene.
While the victims were voiceless,
slaughter grew to genocide.
And, very little was done;
their massacre; swept aside.
The U.N. let the Belgians
sneak away and dodge the blame,
And Roméo Dallaire was placed
in charge; to deal with their shame.
Forced to witness the torture
and defilement of victims.
Roméo's hands were tightly tied,
by Canada's strict dictums.
The sheer weight of Rwanda's pain
weighed heavily on his soul.
And he wrote a book about
lives, hate buried in a hole.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
