They Call Them Terrorists

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  • Dark Poetry

    They Call Them Terrorists
    She walks the streets in sorrow and anger and sympathy
    She cannot claim empathy for she has never known the torment or terror of war
    She grieves for what she sees on her safe little box
    Pictures of bodies, living and dead
    Some still move but are unable to claim life
    They cannot process what they see except through the blood red lens of hatred
    It’s easier to hate than to fear
    Easier to hate than to cry
    The rage washes over them in waves
    Each larger and more intense than the last
    Until a tsunami is formed
    Overpowering everything in its wake

    She feels the buildup of their suffering
    Sees the look in their eyes
    The intensity of their raw emotion weighs her down
    She cries out in her mind
    Stop The Killing! Stop It! Stop It!
    Can’t you see their eyes
    The tsunami is forming
    Its height and breadth formidable
    When at last it crashes a tiny new wave forms
    And begins to grow

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    laydbak1 commented on They Call Them Terrorists

    08-05-2009

    This is a very powerful piece and I totally relate to the way you describe this hate mongering which thrives upon itself and doesn't seem to have any end to it... A great write, this... You should read one of mine on this same subject, written partially from the standpoint of the perpetrator of this evil inhumanity to man... It's titled, "Over There"...
    Reply to Comment

    BridgetBowen

    08/05/2009

    I will read it. Thank you once again for your comments. :)

    lovettk commented on They Call Them Terrorists

    05-10-2009

    great stuff,but only the strong survive,who you go'na call?
    Reply to Comment

    Grito commented on They Call Them Terrorists

    04-22-2009

    So true.
    Reply to Comment

    mspoetris commented on They Call Them Terrorists

    03-13-2009

    Spoken by a true nurturer.This is painting with words.Enjoyed!
    Reply to Comment

    Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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