An eye for an eye

Teeth for teeth

Past the gates

Home for the dead

Bodies lay beneath

Headstones, flowers and written names

Never forgotten in mind

Young ones, old ones

The grace of the good

The mystery of the not so kind

Black is the colour

Clear are the tears

Peaceful not a sound

Except for the whistling birds in the sky

That fly around the town

Long black cars drive in with the boxes

Some ready to burn

Bodies lowered to be buried

The living waiting for their turn

Justin Ashford

A quiet fog, shooters breath,

Rifles lay besides their owners

War, a grey colour,

A somewhat disturbing shade,

Possession or freedom for religion,

Death is more like the catch of the day,

Most popular on the menu.

A list of destruction,

Death chosen by most,

Send it back, it tastes rotten.

Feelings of guilt ridden horror,

Evilness in gargantuan amounts,

Tragic sights, worn, war torn limbs,

Bloody displaced bones and flesh

Where they should not be.

Exploding mines,

Change the life of both sides,

Bullets lodged, shrapnel wounds

Dished out like a dessert,

From the menu of war.

Politicians with dirty hands,

Blood remains in their bodies,

Not spilled out like a soldiers red liquid,

Blooded scars deeply encroached

Into their digits.

The guns slip through

Their so called leaders fingers,

Playing that same tune again Sam,

Change the menu of war,

Will our food taste good again?

Can we all eat in peace!

Justin Ashford