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Like Atoms


Bomb.
Bomb.
Bomb.
Bomb.
Bomb!

We disregard that we don't know death.
Occasionally we stop thinking about the bomb
silent in its descent, much like death.
Sometimes only a murmur dropping in the air,
sensed in our unbending march.

Splitting children like atoms in a lab,
their mother’s wailing death after them.

We sense the bomb long after its fallen,
now motionless, shrapnel standing at attention,
immersed inside the face of horror.
It aches too much for us to re-imagine,
so we don’t, we see another movie,
hear another song, play a different game,
brains deadened, eyes closed to the noise found in war.

O! What a belief we've crafted of our bombs!

© 2013 the spirit of Love dancing through Mark Richard Prime

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