CEMETERY
An eye for an eye
Teeth for teeth
Past the gates
Home for the dead
Bodies lay beneath
Headstones, flowers and written names
Never forgotten in mind
Young ones, old ones
The grace of the good
The mystery of the not so kind
Black is the colour
Clear are the tears
Peaceful not a sound
Except for the whistling birds in the sky
That fly around the town
Long black cars drive in with the boxes
Some ready to burn
Bodies lowered to be buried
The living waiting for their turn
Justin Ashford
The Menu of War
A quiet fog, shooters breath,
Rifles lay besides their owners
War, a grey colour,
A somewhat disturbing shade,
Possession or freedom for religion,
Death is more like the catch of the day,
Most popular on the menu.
A list of destruction,
Death chosen by most,
Send it back, it tastes rotten.
Feelings of guilt ridden horror,
Evilness in gargantuan amounts,
Tragic sights, worn, war torn limbs,
Bloody displaced bones and flesh
Where they should not be.
Exploding mines,
Change the life of both sides,
Bullets lodged, shrapnel wounds
Dished out like a dessert,
From the menu of war.
Politicians with dirty hands,
Blood remains in their bodies,
Not spilled out like a soldiers red liquid,
Blooded scars deeply encroached
Into their digits.
The guns slip through
Their so called leaders fingers,
Playing that same tune again Sam,
Change the menu of war,
Will our food taste good again?
Can we all eat in peace!
Justin Ashford