Running

Word's have reached us, deaf as we are;
The wounds caught our attention
Or maybe it was the dieing, with its awful stench.
The dogs are running wild in the village
Weaving past the empty chairs left outside
For the chickens to sit on and shit,
Covering the red stains with white ones.
What we thought we could not comprehend
We find out in the child's last cries of hunger;
In the father's weeping over stolen loves.
Standing still is not an option.
We will run, like they have run,
Fleeing in fear the terrors of night and day.
We will run because the strength is in us
To carry some of the pain;
Standing still is not an option.
When the gunshots draw near, shattering the calm
Only the dead stand still.


note: I am aware of the somewhat depressing nature of many of these "poems". I would attribute this mostly to my need, at times, to vent my frustrations and fears on paper. Additionally, while I have an eternal hope, I am still very much aware of the broken world in which I live and work.