The house stands quiet behind its useless walls,

as if a wedding cake cut but not devoured.

Discarded tools and children’s toys, the crumbs of life.

Inside, a stagnant calm of dust breathes for no-one.

 

Patches of earth curled with weeds.

The scratchings of beasts consumed by men

score the kill pen floor. Men who ate with fingers

greased with blood and vengeful minds.

 

Veiled women’s screams linger in the stairway,

muffled detonations absorb their sobs.

Imagine the swirl of air, the cordite stench

the settling of the coming silence, until now.

 

Images that ripple out beyond this frame,

across the jagged mountains and ever-changing seas.

Within this place peace has come…

its displaced rage beats in younger hearts.