On the bombing of Iraq
The sound of thunders coursing blue,
Ripping clouds in sundered night,
Ringed with eyes, (Ezekial's wheel),
They see the fleeing stricken reel.
Dervish, can you lift the fallen?
With cries of ‘Jihad’ from the rubble?
Twisted rock and timber rising
In anger at the tears, (surprising),
The sky gods in their justice weep.
Presumption is laid less than flat
As craters fill with smoke and dead.
The signature of nations’ dread
Upon the deed and lease of least.
by Evan Wilson
The sound of thunders coursing blue,
Ripping clouds in sundered night,
Ringed with eyes, (Ezekial's wheel),
They see the fleeing stricken reel.
Dervish, can you lift the fallen?
With cries of ‘Jihad’ from the rubble?
Twisted rock and timber rising
In anger at the tears, (surprising),
The sky gods in their justice weep.
Presumption is laid less than flat
As craters fill with smoke and dead.
The signature of nations’ dread
Upon the deed and lease of least.
by Evan Wilson
2 comments:
To be envied one's couplets. Can it get any better?
I agree with you on "surprising".
The sky gods don't weep much over here, I'm afraid; at least not yet.
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