Scars of War

Our swollen faces have become dashboards of our miseries, The wounds may heal but the scars will remind us still of the the tears we shed to the blood lost, of the shallow holes we dug with our bruised fingers and the rough terrains we lay our heads at night Its the look on our faces that continue to say it all; The scars, the blood and the tears What now have become a new song to our barbarity? Worse than imperialism and tribalism will this fresh wound on our faces ever heal; a people willed to terror killing their mastered skill human blood the pill to their social and economical ills Fresh wounds on our scarred faces We cry, we continue to die Crying before we die we ask Why? How high should we take this poetry to awake the gods of peace to this marooning barbarity? A fresh wound on our scarred faces More blood in the streets than there is safe water to drink The beloved face of humanity is all tattooed with scars of hate We cry, we continue to die Our swollen faces have become dashboards of our miseries From our swollen faces the soar songs we sing crying says it all better; The scars from healed wounds may remain on our faces a piece of history, a narration of our past symbolizing the ills we conquered and know better to avoid Wise enough to avoid the same stupidity