For Those Whom The Bells Are Tolling ... (Apropos The Children Of War And Famine)

The acid rains have come and gone
Leaving nuclear winters
Chasing the autumns of our lives.

Drying bones, wrapped in a parched skins
Silhouette the inept horizons
Of the desert's edge.

Famine, the silent emissary of death
Carpets the naked altar of life:
Hunger tutoring the sacrificial lambs.

In hued shadows of distant dawns, ships
Sail to the moon: leaving death frowning
At the evils that men do. Indeed time grows

Weary of crystallized tears reflecting hope:
An endangered species chasing remnants of beings

Festering int the vortex of holocaust winds, life
Growing stale in swollen wombs. Indeed, births
have become still born exercises.

Famine chooses the choicest lambs;
Warlords crouch and count the spoils.

by Millard Lowe

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