The Bitter Soil
Gaia, mother of us all
wars defile our sacred Earth
we sow the dead like seeds
reap a harvest from invader’s guns.
In this, now gutted land
seared by hate and grief
as schools become mass graves
hope is a word for other tongues.
Flowers of their native dirt
families wrapped side by side
here only death can bloom
when infant buds are made to starve.
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