Turning Wheel....

turning wheel....
newspaper clipping epitaphs,
dead bodies whisper

in the grasses turned brown...
water stagnant, stinking
with blackened greed....

children's hands severed,
lined up beneath the altar,
sacrificed to the gods

of an angry age...
even the trees weep,
and the mountains shudder!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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