The waif plays on the wharf
Setting to sail her merry kite,
As the her grandmother watches on,
Untangling the skein of yarn.
What better anodyne
Than a peaceful loving scene
To free my mind of horror
Of a world that’s gone awry?
Yet the scene like a percussive negation
Magnifies the pain inside my mind
These flimsy views of innocence
Are a spade that digs a darker tomb.
I smell the smell of gun powder
I hear the cries of children injured
Clapping my hands to my ears
I cannot silence the world.
(C) G.s.k. ’14