Palestine aches

PALESTINE ACHES The dead have silent teeth and empty throats, They have no voice with which to speak, to cry of all the horrors they have seen and been and known; to call for justice, freedom from the power of those who kill to claim what is not theirs, the land of others, who suffocate children in waves of dust and shredded metal moments, where blood and tears and destiny are driven deep into the waiting earth; dressing broken fragments of their lives, their souls, their hearts, that costuming of evil which war does primp and posture into place, for those who are the victims, for those who cannot speak, and for whom the only hope can be for others, that their throats are not empty, their teeth are not silent, their words are not crushed beneath the boot of evil and injustice and military might, and that in the darkened quietness of this awful, suppurating wound, their only hope is that the voices of the living will be speaking out for those who lie strewn, fleshed like scattered crops, in that harvest which bleeds and grieves and slowly seeds the fields of future justice in aching Palestine. R.Ross ©