The Cry of War

By Don Ford

Sounds of anguish heard,

The pain of brokenness is felt.

Lives all scattered ’round –

Cries in war like chorus swells.

The bandages of hope worn thin,

While children’s voices call.

Like whispers of the soul,

And all around the mighty fall.

Shattered broken pieces,

Lack of sacredness in life.

Destruction is their calling card,

They even throw away their lives.

The games they play with bombs as toys,

We gather up the fragments.

These village fools, not martyrs be –

Offering up their child – they vent.

The stench of killing fields below,

Running out of graves to fill.