The Killing Fields
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This story has to be told in its most ugly fashion.... We cannot cover it up. We must paint these acts in their most horrific details. All the blood all the dismembered body parts, all the sorrow and all the pain. Only when we see these killing fields in their most disgusting, awful and gruesome details will we be inclined to do something. They must be seen in all their infectious manifestations and repeated to us daily. WE cannot become immune to this disease, for it is a disease that can be cured.
It has to be ugly.... So ugly you cannot stand it. So ugly you cannot forget it. So damn ugly it makes you ill.
I wrote this poem in September of 2019 with a one line addition for the mass killing that occurred in Atlanta this past week. It is a reflection of my thoughts and why we as a country can’t come to grips with even the slightest token of any reasonable gun control. I encourage all poets to write about these ugly scenes. It is our duty as well as our legislator’s duty to do something about it. What will you do when the gun is pointed at you?
Stepping across these bodies
Makes me ill
Pools of blood stitched
In the soles of my shoes
Body parts dripping from
Walls where bullets passed
She went to school that day
Skipping and laughing along the way
Gunfire from hell
Unleashed in a fury of hate
For no reason at all
Convenient it seems
Seven year old girl
Face half gone
Her mother weeps
They did nothing
Stepping across these lifeless forms
Makes me ill
Rivers of blood
Stain the asphalt
Two lovers embraced
In death
Bullets passed through
Denying them life
They went to a concert that day
Joking and laughing along the way
Gunfire from Hell
Rang down from above
For no reason at all
Convenient it seems
Their parents weep
They did nothing
Stepping across these mangled forms
Makes me ill
Bodies slumped over
In wooden pews
Riddled with bullet holes
Bibles in their hands
They went to pray to Jesus
Thinking everything right
Gunfire from hell
The open front door
All are welcome
Convenient it seems
Jesus weeps
They did nothing
Stepping across these mutilated forms
Makes me ill
Bleeding bodies
Screaming kids
Bisected limbs
Coughing up blood
It was their first date
Popcorn and cokes
Gunfire from hell
Came from the stage door
Down the aisles he strutted
Convenient it seems
Defying reason
They did nothing
Don’t you understand
What doing nothing
Has done?
Complicit you are
No leadership you show
Your arrogance defies wisdom
Don’t you give a damn?
Maybe, if the dead
Were one of yours?
No??
I’m going to guess
You’re too %*# vain
Makes you guilty as well
Stepping across these bodies
These bodies covered in blood
These bodies without faces
Ties a knot
Deep in my heart
Makes me ill
Blankets cover the dead
We don’t have to look
Yet we’re part of the scene
Living in fear
These killing fields
Make me ill
Another eight today
Copyright © Lon Wartman | Year Posted 2021
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