Washed Up

So many dead people 
caught in the crossfire
created by the the money men, 
the arms traders,
the super ego-ed politicians.
They lie dead where they fell.
Flesh and blood transformed to 
fertilizer to nurture the seeds 
and grow the crops, in a future
they will not see.
Their bones decaying to dust
to form the building blocks 
of homes they will never inhabit.
Dying where they fell, 
over there, not here
and not looking like us.
Unseen or soon forgotten
by us here. 


But the dead washed up
on holiday beaches
look like our flesh and blood.
They’re wearing our clothes.
They’re washing up to haunt us
in the Old World.
Then there’s the living,
washed up alive 
and by any means necessary
moving on to bear witness, 
if any one is listening.
To bring the horror home 
to those who created it
in the Old World.
Bringing it home to the Old World,
but not as yet to the New.



First published in Whirlwind, 2015

https://iamnotasilentpoet.wordpress.com/2016/09/12/washed-up-by-lynn-white/

Comments

Popular posts from this blog