Tinderbox
Sept. 11. is a dark and fateful day,
No one wants to live through.
A plane plummeted into the World Trade Center
And in minutes it turned into a tinderbox.
With a flash of light and a thunderous boom,
Billows of smoke darkened the sky.
Crimson flames rose high and danced in the air,
Turning hundreds into mere cinders!
Such atrocities are vicious and repeated
Caused by tempestuous passions and brutish urges
Violence erupts as pressure builds inside
No warning, no alarm siren
Sudden spurt of lava, effacing life, love, and dreams
War drums, grenades, gun shots
Fire spitting dragons of tanks
Sizzling missiles and bombs
Screams, wails, and bloodshed
Pale faced grimace of death!
It’s up to us to decide if we should be agents of peace
Or tinderboxes, highly inflammable!
Milton the blind bard of England sang
“Peace hath her victories
No less renowned than war”
Let no man take up arms against another
For when peace dwells within
There shall be peace without!
October- 27.2022
~ Placed Second~
This or That- Vol.14. Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Edward Ibeh
Copyright © Valsa George | Year Posted 2022
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