War

Bombast
bomb blast
vast dense dying

Why?

With a thunderous hail to
Christ, Jehovah, Allah
we will have that piece of land
that gold, that crown

Make Mothers question the strain of birth
the suckle of love, the pain of growth

for rivers that once swelled in bluest majesty
will now run blood red
burdened with the broken skulls and severed limbs
the festering bodies of someone else's children
of their own
and wonder if it's best to drwon the kittens when they're born so they need not breathe the stench of death.