Posted by: Ron DuBour | April 6, 2017

Daily missive for Thursday the 6th pf April. Khan Sheikhoun, Idlib province.~by Peter Forster



Daily missive for Thursday the 6th pf April.
Khan Sheikhoun, Idlib province.

If you have a life line throw it
If you wait beyond the tree line
It could be too late
Watch them fall.
It is more than a cloud on the horizon
Bearing acid rain,
Toxic air from too much diesel
What must it have been like in the old smoke
With coal fires.
Now all we see are the funeral pyres
A deadly smog much more than fog
A man made contribution
Another twist in the
Tail of the final solution.
Wash it all away before breakfast
Bend your knees and pray
It will be gone one day
Nobody owns it.
The mistral blew along the avenue
Even as the bombs were falling
The horsemen came a calling
And the parents cried
As the children died.
It is appalling how we squeak
At the outcome
When we have allowed
The strong to rule over the weak
For far too long
If it is wrong now it was not right then
Take the money, count to ten
The truth will disappear
The sky will clear
And whatever else you say
Nobody will ever pay.
For the people on the ground
It is not theatre in the round
Even though it can be called such.
A theatre of war
A spectacle observed like Napoleon
From a distant hill
Swooping in for the kill
Collateral damage to a reputation
Too easily denied.
It was not his fish that he had fried
His own baby that had died
There is no cost
What is gone was never lost
It is nought but a war game
Played by drones & machines
In the cockpit of a jet plane
In all probability.
The chance of success
Is marginally greater
If an air strike is now, rather than later
And if it is your turn to die
We can find a crocodile
Who will surely cry
As it bites off the hand that will feed it.
So throw out a line and reel it in
Before the game begins
Drink a glass of wine
It will be fine if you wait to dine
Until the all clear.
The true stench of death will
Never come near to your moral
High ground
The truth of it all will never be found.
It is an evil game
With all the main players one and the same
As we,
In thrall to democracy
And the lands of the free
Who say we are not to blame
But neither are we guiltless
Or guileless, just gutless.


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