E-Mail   by Karl Chamberlain   Bio/Address

The light comes in from the window
electric-blue light
dancing on the dirty, torn pastry walls
with their crusted edges
and mildewed coffee stains.
Light shadows flow with light
dispelling despairing darkness cry!
Why cry!?

I cry for the bars
that glisten wet with the tears
and blood of babies unborn;
generations gone; a family dead.

The Holocaust of America
Twisted mangled bodies
fall at the feet of our Politicians.

A guard stares in -
a friend walks by -
no one dares to see the tears.
We shove the blood,
back down the murderers' throats;
trying to cleanse our own hands
we dirty the victims we slay.

And I, the Mine,
wail as my funeral shroud,
"More blood for the crowd!"

Karl Chamberlain

Other Poems this Issue: UGLY

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