The bomb.

When that sinister canister shape is loosed
With a simple finger to button move
And the air is rent with a searing flash
With a voice like thunder loud and long
And bodies are blasted, bodies are burned
Friend, relation, mother and child
The cries of pain, the winds descant
No one to whisper reassuring words
When no grass grows and no birds fly
Then, will they be satisfied?

Reviews

[Bryan Sefton]

You paint a bad picture Chris. Unfortunately it goes in with the reality. The lucky ones will die in the explosion.
Thank you.

[Chris Shaw]

Sadly there are those in our species hell bent on self destruction. Perhaps our planet would be better left to the animal and plant kingdom. Makes you wonder whether the human race will survive much longer with such madness around. Powerfully expressed Bryan.

Chris