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Monday, August 4, 2014

Kali Marching in Palestine

After the angry men played their video games from far away.
After they launched their bombs and took lives away.
After they paused from the adrenaline highs to look at what they wrought
Do the ghosts of the children slain haunt them?

Do they sleep well at night dreaming of the children they killed?
Do wives and grandchildren come to visit to chide them in their sleep?
Do they tell their loved ones, they killed vermin spawn before they could grow up?
Or do they realize they did an evil thing for evil masters?

If they don't have nightmares, I have nightmares enough, myself.
The source for zombie movies, lies in the dread from the visits of the dead, that come to me in my sleep.
They don't speak Arabic or Hebrew, they talk to me in my dreams.
And I try to comfort them in their dying. Because I can hear eternal screams.

They don't suffer as much. Comes one touch of peace, and they smile and go back to keep.
The pain for them is over, in this world's eternal wakeless sleep
It's their families and killers who wake up, sweating in the night.
And the only thing that will put the dead to peace, is when the living put things to right!

Kali is marching, marching in her glee!
Goddess or demoness, four arms, maniacle smile and swords in each hand.
She lives in these so called monotheists, and leads them to their slaughter.
Her face maniacal with joy, at the insanity of stupid humans.

You can't tell me these men are anything, but destined for their doom.
If there is a loving God, he's turning his other eye.
The mood of awful disaster, the sword that smites friend and foe.
Men who visit pain and hatred, are destined to fall below.

One day peace will come. Sweet, and quiet and calm.
That is outside human control, one way or another.
Peace can look like a garden, or it can look like an empty wasteland.
It can involve children smiling, stepping into the light.
Or millions of unburied corpses, rotting in the night.

Christopher H. Holte

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