Will George Poet Hostile

HOSTILE

Every day we hear of noteworthy events.

Good things infrequently, bad things and discontent.

People in their places, in possession, out of control;

Conflicting, uncaring, centred on their world.

War cries, atrocities, inflicted without sentiment;

Casualties, tossed casually, left to lament.

To what purpose does suffering lead?

Presses upon people, leaves them to bleed.

Jesus wept tears that cannot be put aside;

And Buddha cried for pain that cannot be denied!

What purpose does control serve? If you starve?

What if your children die? Before they can laugh!

Disease of the body, the mind, the soul;

Ignorance and fear, no joy, no goals;

Possession of things, material, unshared;

Protective enclosures reduce those who cared.

It only takes one to point a gun;

To reduce an opponent, one by one.

What of women, children, the sick and infirm?

Do they point guns? Do they find bullets to return?

Jesus wept! Tears of compassion;

Mohammed stood close, in meditation.

Have you looked at a puddle of oozing blood?

Red, fire red, sticky; turns earth to mud.

Cement stained, remains, something permanent;

Unless structure is destroyed by armament.

Bombs and bullets, dropped anywhere, are indiscriminate;

They burst bodies, vessels they terminate.

Life is taken; instantly eliminated; Death!

There is no compassion for unknown stolen breath;

But what of lingering pain, mutilation?

Agony, wrenching life, drugs lacking, there is no medication!

Whose parent? Whose child? A relative to someone!

Jesus wept your tears! For your darkness.

Buddha cried again;

Muhammed waited; Until you your pain express!