Father of blood-red fields,
you must be weary.
Haven't you enough of the dead?
There's certainly enough wounded...
Is your thirst unending?
It must be.
Here comes the silver jets.
The black bombers.
Your will is solid.
Constant. Ravenous.
Could you at least consider
the women and children
huddled in their homes?
You're ruthless, aren't you?
The explosions are your laughter.
The fires are your long fingertips
probing the corpse.
Published in The Dark Fiction Spotlight- January 2011
Published in Mirror Dance- June 2009
Published in Black Book Press *
you must be weary.
Haven't you enough of the dead?
There's certainly enough wounded...
Is your thirst unending?
It must be.
Here comes the silver jets.
The black bombers.
Your will is solid.
Constant. Ravenous.
Could you at least consider
the women and children
huddled in their homes?
You're ruthless, aren't you?
The explosions are your laughter.
The fires are your long fingertips
probing the corpse.
Published in The Dark Fiction Spotlight- January 2011
Published in Mirror Dance- June 2009
Published in Black Book Press *
