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The loss of a mother's son
These feelings of guilt cannot be washed away
Or resolved by educated men in tweed suits
With degrees and accolades hanging on their walls
Nor can the pharmaceutical companies suppress
The feelings of self loathing and hate
There is no cure for the pain of memory
Sleepless sweat drenched nights
Visions of death
Heart pounding from my chest
Nightmares never the less consuming my life
In every dream the faces revealed
A mother's son, a father's pride
The face of a boy following a dream
Of becoming the man his parents need to survive
Only to be handed his fate
By invaders in the mind's of a religion of hate
How are we so arrogant to decide
That a country, a township,
A village of oppression can not chose sides
Who am I to determine who lives or dies?
How is our illusion of salvation the one they must find?
Putting guns into the hands of the misguided youth
Warped and disfigured, fed only mistruths
And now the loss of two mother's sons
One with his creator
The other... numb
Very descriptive...
I like the flow of this poem, and how you worded yourself, of course. I felt drawn by each new stanza, as it differed from the previous one yet it was just as powerful, if not more.