Tongues of Fire
Torrid tongues of fire lick the sky,
tasting death as the jets fly by.
And there is no safety in caves
nor bombed basements; they become graves.
Anger smolders like burning coals,
igniting flames, consuming souls.
And hearts shatter like fragile glass,
lives bartered for the price of gas.
Spilling blood stains the hands of God,
yet believers don't find that odd.
For words scrawled on banners of hate
say infidels will rue their fate.
Mother and child, entombed in death,
call for revenge with their last breath.
And spilled on the altar of pride,
an ocean of blood drowns each side.
Both young and old defend their rage,
there is no shelter found in age.
And where righteous flames sear the ground,
hate, mistrust, and revenge abound.
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2017
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