Poetry

Wiped Clean

By 11th February 2009December 9th, 2019No Comments

The blazing sands whistle through the tent threads
Calling the names of the dead
Calling for a remembrance
That has been neglected

The papers lie in a pile on the sand covered desk
Buried like the dead whose names cover them
Hiding from the glare of the publics annoyance
At a job well done

An explosion rocks the foundations of the stillness
Sending the sand scattering like miniature blades
Into the already twanging flesh
Of the running ghosts

So long yet not so far
Another camp, another bomb
Same enemy different location
Endlessly turns the wheel of war

Running now to find an asylum
Escape the barrage of hate
Spewing from minds brainwashed into belief
While others dance in the safety of the shadows

Oh for the rest!
No dawn broken by the screams of the offended
No letters home to the expectant families
Whose opening destroys more than one life

The sounds subside
Engulfed by the sands concentration
Looking out I see the same undulating landscape
A fitting end to a futile day

Anne-Marie Spittle

Author Anne-Marie Spittle

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