you facilitate the genocide

I would cry to see the sands wash away the blood.
Dry winds cleansing the evidence of men
hiding int he shadow of the cowardice of giants,
their weapons making short work of the unarmed
the undernourished
the uncomprehending
who are stripped of their dignity
then left to die because
all that is required for evil to endure
is for everyone else to have other things to do.

And you.
And you.
And you.
And you facilitate the genocide.

Babies dying from the inside out shout silent cries
for an end to the violent rape of their mothers
and sisters as their brothers are rounded up
and beat to death to save bullets.
Bloated, hungry bellies bursting in the sun
as the tears run dry to mix with blood
in a flood of sand that spans
horizon to horizon, making one unmarked grave
pretty much the same as the next one, regardless
of who they really were. Faceless, traceless remnants.

And you.
And you.
And you.
And you facilitate the genocide.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

My follow-up to "Darfur (Jesus Wept)"