Photo by Jacob Bentzinger on Unsplash

Blue-flame tabernacle rises from the ground
A concrete mist in the air, flames all around, 
Now this purpled phoenix screams at the sight
Of fast approaching, relentless, coal-black, night.

In this descent into infanticide, false consciousness abounds,
A child’s pleading eyes, alone, on a rising tide of the sound
Bombs tear up the ground: destroy hope, plant hatred, fear
As in the Warsaw ghetto, so very long ago, yet ever so very near. 

And, so, the international community frowns
As empty platitudes are exchanged, all round
As everything remains the same
Random acts of cruelty: that’s the name of the game. 

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