God, I once saw your face,
in the burning corpse of a child.
The incense of flesh, your fragrance,
haunts my senses, my memory,
God, I saw the pieces of your creation
posed in scattered blasted bits, blood of life.
They spilled across the jungle green
a backdrop to my constant dreams.
God, I heard the cries for you,
in the hell of cordite and hot metal.
Prayers to you to help, to heal
to stop the pain, the hurt, the madness.
God, you did not answer or care,
you turned your back, hid your face.
Death hypocrite, unanswered plea for life,
unanswered, silent, apocalyptic deaf mute .
Copyright: 2008, Donald Harbour