PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I

The red and the black bugs 
scatter in panic
as the white-hot ray
tracks across the sidewalk.

Some find shelter
in cracks and crannies
while others are hit,
crinkle, burst and burn.

The smoke of formic acid
mixed with scorched flesh
rises to the child's nose.

He has mastered the skill
of focusing the sun's light
through the magnifying glass
accurately and mercilessly 
on the helpless ants below.

II

The people scurry
as the bombs fall 
from the plane
and burst among the hovels.

All, young and old, 
innocent and guilty,
die in the firestorm.

Calmly,
the bomber acquires a new target
in his cross-hairs
and opens the bomb-bay doors.
He has honed his craft
to murderous precision.

III

Let us teach our children
that all life is precious
and irreplaceable.

The seeds of peace and love 
cannot sprout 
on poisoned ground.