Note – the following poem was submitted to World Can’t Wait comments, by Rick the poet
Three small bodies in Gaza.
Lined on linen in a row.
Like triplets,
all the same.
Lined on linen in a row.
Like triplets,
all the same.
No blood distracts from their toddler trance
No grimace of death pain.
I cannot but stare at the innocence.
Missing limbs are but there, still attached.
Someone points and the pale sleep speaks.
How neatly is this death?
See the circle-symmetry of centered targets,
slow moving.
Cleansed by the echo of cleansing shots.
Exit wounds all the size of an infant’s fist.
Each one, small-chest center.
Already mother-cleansed
and lifetime-wept.
The crowd stirs in uniform misery.
A dance in the greed of hell.
Lonely witness to
the mercy of an American rifle
in the hands of an Israeli sniper
making room for his sister’s house.
Yesterday the Taliban blew up a wedding of one of their opponents in Afganistan, and have been stepping up their attempts to assainate elected officials. Yet the world can’t wait remains silent, saving its criticism in the middle east for only one nation seeking to defend its existence.
Only when isreal is victimized with this organization be happy.
Your credibility has been shot and you have been exposed as a lunatic fringe.
It’s quite a shame. You had the potential to do some good