tears spill with my seed
sewn in sand not soil
Children fall and die, though,
I can’t hear their cries
of woe nor blasts from canons
Other than the one I grip,
squeeze to diplomatically relieve
tension, inner struggle, pestilence,
armed conflict, hand-to-hand
combat, anger, discord, strife
localized before it is generalized,
before explosions engage, disengage,
dismember, decapitate, make
once-dexterous bodies and minds
unravel, unwind as the doomsday clock’s
hands tick…tick…tock, it’s so hard
to relax when great war and great
depression threaten our way of going
and going and going and going until
All life is
expelled and
gone.