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Love, peace and goodness to you, yours and the (H)eartH...
Posted by Mark R. Prime peace on Feb 28, 2006
A little boy was fitted with new legs, toys, he thought, that needn't winding- click, click, click…Boom!
Two little girls, sisters lowered to their nest, youth stolen, like their dear mother in June- click, click, click…Boom!
2,292 troops hunkered down for eternity defending country from phantom weaponry- click, click, click…Boom! 205 coalition forces snuffed out so soon defending ghosts wrapped in patriot cloak- click, click, click…Boom!
You say Bush rarely makes the safe choice, with that, dear friends, I’ll not disagree- click, click, click…Boom! Ask the 16,906 US troops wounded in action! if you could but ask the 50,000 dead Iraqi!- click, click, click…Boom!
Do you honestly think George Bush is a hero? That you’re safer for his killing an erroneous foe?- click, click, click…Boom! Shore up the troops not self-annihilation, democracy dream jumbled in civil war gestation- click, click, click…
Posted by Mark R. Prime peace on Feb 24, 2006
Let us look upon this thing called war remembering its unwavering lessons in the arid land of these hard events. Trampling o`er what is ancient with what is fresh we've lost our original sovereignty which should remain our foundation. That which sprang to birth in righteousness, that which was bestowed upon the dawn should be lifted to better beginnings not go from purity to cold-blooded murder.
They chained their liberated sufferers to steel bars in filth ridden palaces where their screaming fell upon the desecrated ears of empire. We forgot our flowers, forgot our sacrifices. Their streets are filled with the dried bones of brutally murdered children, of wishes for new beginnings, of craving for freedom's ring, of gleaming a sovereign face, of faith in mankind's prayer.
...Let us look upon this thing called war...
Plato Philosophy Crimes of War
Posted by Mark R. Prime peace
They were surprised by the fetid sounds of war. They were surprised by the trembling earth. They were surprised by their quaking limbs. And soon everything seemed to be exploding, the air, the ground... Her children’s blood gushed from the earth instead of oil destroying smiles and tears and bone. It’s been exploding ever since, dirty bombs, shredding metal, and from them flesh and bone.
Liberators with gun and grenade, redeemers with rifle and heavy tank, tendering rapid-fire liberty with death, landing on wings slayed brown broods and the blood of them filled the Dijla with a charity of the innocent’s blood.
Rescuers that the nations would resent, stones instead of kisses, bombs over roses, freedom that the free might consume in a country teetering and spent. God to God with them to frowning flesh! Iraqis exploding like atoms to be buried under tables dead where they lived.
Gruesome commander: See them, their dead liberty, gaze their broken homeland, from corpses holding children instead of hope and roses, all our soldiers of America and every corpse a gallon of oil, every life left to poisonous soil which will very soon seek the heart of creation.
Soon the books will but speak briefly holding the tongues of the imprisoned that lies may flourish underground, and Iraqi souls might find their way from `neath the fiery dwelling, from under civilization carrying the buried and bleeding truth toward a stillness. Toward home.
Iraq War Victims