Jon Ojala - Thirteen

Not yet thirteen years old,
his life ripped apart by violence,
father, uncles sisters, cousins, friends,
killed by bombs from THEIR planes,
hit by rockets from THEIR launchers,
mutilated by explosions from THEIR mines,
shot dead by bullets from THEIR guns.
Red-visions of hatred shock-wave thru him,
twisting him, corrupting his soul,
burning away the child inside,
leaving him screaming within,
savage unfocused eyes stare back,
killer's eyes.
It's THEIR fault, our poverty,
he moans to the sky,
their decadence that's responsible
for the wreckage of our lives.
Their wealth is stepping on our necks.
Do not the Elders confirm this?
Once unleashed, the
hatred is impossible to temper,
impossible to call back.
Koran, Bible, Scripture, Counsel,
none can undo the poison.
They will pay, oh yes.
They will pay.

© ® 2008 Jon Ojala

Jon Ojala

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/thirteen-3/