Stairway to the Land of the Dead

The clock in London chimes the hour as I wait beneath the stairs…While the Taliban is
Laughing…ISIS setting off more flares…and bombs, the bombs are bursting in a never –ending blaze
All across the red-horizon where young - children once had played.
The door once opened, closing…and the rains are falling hard, bits of flesh and bone are flying,
Shrapnel, land-mines, metal-shards. As the dead and wrapped up bodies lay around, all side –by-side
The brain-demented –doctor releases chemicals in the air…an Ophthalmologist by profession, doesn’t
Matter, he can’t see all the people he is killing…how can this not bother me?
News reports are nighty airing photographs of all the dead, I can’t rest and I can’t sleep
Can’t purge these pictures from my head.

-- Isolde du L., Adult