Second installment but this time the pictures are by Rebekah and Deborah from the catacombs in Paris. Poetry by Benjamin.
Endless
Where has all the power gone for good
When nations struggle endlessly toward inaction
Blame for problems squarely laid upon
Those backs already bent by deprivation
Too easy it remains to be at peace
When battles fought are not in your backyard
Ever more sleazy talking heads announce
The death tolls in a decrescending drawl
That fails entirely to help resolve
The tribulations which continue to evolve
From colonies we’ve lost but somehow never held
To terrorists we’ve sought and never found
An endless game of ring around the rose
Whose thorns do cause much pain to those that know
That we are all to blame for this charade
And dancing corpses could not make believe
With gravitas equivalent to the many souls
Whose bloodied spirits we have helped enroll
In such cruel parodies of theater shows
As are depicted in the end by rows on rows
Of crosses, headstones, and where we give aid
In burials en grosse we call mass graves
The pits were dug by native hands, it’s true
But each of us helped fill them, me and you.