I dream of those stumps

I have heard the vile rotten tripe,
Convoluted reasoning spewed,
Seen the decimation of humanity.
Hands do not wave above the arms,
They are only bloodied stumps,
What is left, the machetes work.
The President of Sudan speaks,
A sweaty bloated brow on TV,
He says: “There is no trouble here.”
His greed compounds the lie,
Savagery is the terrible coin paid,
His words the bitter gall of deceit.
The world watches, fascinated,
Tsk, tsk, how sad!
These people have nothing we want.
What price a human soul?
Not the drought forsaken Darfur sand,
Fleas upon the ground these humans.
Leaders debate, cajole each other,
Sell arms, machetes, live in comfort,
The devil spawn is in control.
The severed hands desiccated,
Once they held babies, each other.
The earth consumes the blood seed.
Evil faces cross the parched ground,
Invoking their god’s name,
In the name of religion,
Their proselytizing murder
Opens the great maw of hell.
As the innocent wither and die,
Creation is lessened and humanity
Moans for a redeemer, a savior,
But there is none, there never will be.
A union of greed and religious zeal
The hearts of all nations unforgiven.
They have circled their wagons against truth,
Mighty nations have forgotten responsibility
Their people have become the Godless .

© 2011, Donald Harbour

Who Will Kill Freedom

When a young man stood still,
To stop a tank on Tienanmen Square,
Did you stand up and cheer,
Did you protest with him – did you care?

When a young girl is gang raped,
In the silent violent Darfur night,
Do you feel her pain – her shame,
Do you shout at your leaders this is not right?

When a nation values truth and justice,
Then tortures a captive in a concrete cell,
Where were your values of honor,
Where were they as the nation descends into hell?

When you look at your image in the mirror,
What is reflected there that grasps your mind,
In the light of reason – the path of light,
Has it so dimmed that to reality you are blind?

When the newspaper white washes wrong,
Casting half truths on pages printed with soy ink,
Must you use it to wrap odious fish offal,
Or does the smell of their craft already stink?

When your leaders carp about their party,
The same words that Stalin and Mao once used,
And the Constitution is cast aside,
Are you with patriotic indignation infused?

When we become the animals in the chute,
Stumbling to a slaughter house Democracy,
We will draw the knife across freedom’s throat,
Held in the hands of our own hypocrisy.

Copyright: 2008, Donald Harbour