Feet outward,heads inward.
Mountains of corpses.
Layer upon layer of bodies piled so
to see the eyes,the mouth,the noses.
In one forgotten hear of bodies not
was an eyeball looking out and watching
Was it alive?
Was just a maggot putting false life
a dead face?
All wandering searching for water.
Fleeing from the licking flames searching
for a last drop of water.
A hurt mother clutching her child running
along the river.
Falling into the deep part and scrambling
back desperately to the shallow.
Run! through the fierce flames enveloping
Stopping only to cool her face in the
Finally to here.
Finally she gave breast to babe and
out it not alive.
A portrait of mother anf child in the
Wounded mother and dead infant,the
Let the mother and child be a symbol
as it has always been.
It must be!