Whatever could be said, between the living and the dead.
My heartbeat, amplified a thousand times, makes
me feel unsteady as I trample on the short grass.
So many white crosses, so close together,
I wonder if they speak to each other still.
Commenting on the intruders who stare at them.
Now, we are the ghosts who crush new life,
Creating bigger weapons to destroy new enemies.
In office-like surroundings we press the button
Leading to localised carnage, that we follow on video.
The bodies lie twisted and broken. No longer human.
poem © copyright Brian Shirra 2014