hiding behind death



I take a peek back onto the global stage;

Syrian still killing their children

Iraq still killing their children.

Afghanistan still killing their children–

internecine, internecine, internecine!

Such bloody theatre makes one to retreat.


I rather hide behind my beloved bard’s

death mask reveling in mournful doldrums

than witness horrifying bloodbaths which

make Shakespearean plays read like

a glimmer-of- hope-fun-of-the-art fairy tales.

My own little corner of prayers is not going

to intercept ceasing the senseless acts.


I snap my finger like a match, hoping

for a second coming to say, “Halt!”

I now open my eyes hearing the Times thump

on my pavement while glancing at my bard’s

empty chair. Will I open the paper, read

that world wars are over forever more?

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