Death On A Sunday Afternoon

Years now
since Gulf War
exploded on our borders.

Even longer
since stepping over corpses
in our streets.

I remember
cutting throat
of body-shot
sacrificial victim.

Sticking unyielding
knife blade
into lifeless eyeball.

To test for life or death.
Scenario shock
of dislocated shot-through jaw.

Opening in pitiful soul shaking soundless howl.
Guilt still soaks covers
blackened burnt soul.
Manic murdering hands.

poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!