The Stain

they bury the bodies
in shallow graves....
never forgetting the faces

of hunger and need.
great planes flying overhead,
covered trucks on dusty roads.

soldiers with guns, blank stares,
cold as the oil in their veins....
the reporter speaks, eyes half lowered...

you turn off the tv,
and go to wash your hands...
but you cant wash away the stain!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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