rrodriguez

Hacked

 

The breast-plated pale iron horses gallop undeterred

with pounding sound stomping the ground, rumbling

reverberating all around. Hell and death

on the prowl, coughing up bloodthirsty rounds. The

hammer and sickle ripped the cities making prisons,

deathtraps. Lives cut short, severed bodies, dismembered

limbs, spilled blood, a slaughterhouse. It clears away the

living & brings death to all. Life has become barely living

and to live is to cope with the onslaught. The innocent

languish and die. Their bread has turned stale, water into

diesel, and all feel the pangs of hunger. Darkness wanders

the devastated country, the icy earth has blackened with the

settling soot. All have turned black. Their dead are piled-up

in massive graves. The dying embers of crumbled buildings

where many lived are heaps of mangled skeletons, a mass

of piled trash. The people walk the tattered cities, desolate,

with their rags putrefied, on a death march. The road is hard,

muddy, manless, treeless, lifeless—Silence can be heard.

The wind-wisped smoke & the darkened clouds a sunless dome.

Not looking back, they trudge on to seek refuge in a foreign land,

with pain leaving Ukraine.